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DELILAH

T he smell of butter and garlic clung to Delilah’s sleeves as she organized the shelf of glass vials, each one labeled in Wren’s shaky but elegant script. The apothecary was quieter than usual—no potions bubbling, no spirit candles whispering from the corner altar.

Which made her suspicious.

Too quiet in Celestial Pines always meant someone was plotting something charming and ridiculous.

Her suspicion turned to certainty the moment the door jingled open and Rollo walked in.

He ducked slightly out of habit—he always did, even though the doorframe was wide enough—and carried with him that ever-present mix of pine bark and cinnamon. His flannel sleeves were rolled up, revealing the faint glimmer of the protective glyphs on his forearms.

“Morning,” he rumbled, warm and casual.

Wren, seated by the fire with her tea, barely looked up from her crochet. “You headed to the market?”

“Figured I’d stop by,” Rollo said. “Thought you might need something. I can pick it up while I’m out.”

Wren grinned and sipped her tea like she’d been waiting all morning for this.

“Oh, there’s sure to be something , but my list’s in Delilah’s head,” she said sweetly. “You’ll take her with you, won’t you?”

Delilah turned slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re already halfway dressed for town,” Wren said, not blinking. “Besides, I don’t trust you to remember the difference between star thistle and crow root when they’re bundled together.”

Rollo looked toward Delilah, lips tugging with amusement. “I can carry the baskets.”

She crossed her arms. “I am perfectly capable of shopping on my own, you know.”

“Then you’ll have no trouble showing me how it’s done,” he said, his eyes glinting.

Wren coughed—suspiciously close to a laugh.

Delilah narrowed her gaze as she walked over to her grandmother to grab her basket. “You planned this.”

Wren sipped her tea. “I’m old and wise and very tired. Humor me.”

The Everglen Market spilled across the clearing like a bouquet of chaos—woven tents, floating herb stands, charm weavers hawking their wares, and kids darting between aisles with paper cones of candied violets.

The sun was high and honey-warm, and the scent of woodsmoke mingled with fresh bread and sweetroot cider.

Delilah tried not to notice how naturally she and Rollo fell into rhythm—how their pace matched, how his fingers brushed hers when he steadied the basket without asking.

They moved through the crowd, checking stalls for ginger root, dried moonflower petals, and a specific violet-dusted candle Wren swore improved dream clarity.

She was just starting to relax when they turned a corner and walked straight into chaos.

A small booth run by the Nettle twins—a pair of mischievous witch siblings barely out of apprenticeship—had a crooked chalkboard sign that read:

“Try Our Lovers’ Knot Enchantment! Guaranteed to Strengthen Any Bond!”

Delilah froze mid-step. “Oh no,” she said under her breath. “Absolutely not.”

But Rollo had already turned toward the commotion, eyes catching on a pair of teens shuffling past, hands stuck palm-to-palm by a glowing gold thread and laughing awkwardly.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Charm gone rogue?”

Delilah narrowed her eyes at the nearest twin—likely Fenny, who had a history of charming frogs into people’s teapots.

“Don’t touch anything, ” she hissed.

Rollo lifted his hands in surrender—but stepped too close to the edge of the tent.

That was all it took.

A leftover thread from one of the display charms uncoiled from the top of the booth and snapped to life, zooming through the air like it recognized them.

Delilah felt it before she saw it.

The pulse of magic hit her palm with a sudden heat , and a second later, a loop of gold light wrapped around her wrist—and Rollo’s.

“Rollo!”

He looked down in time to see the enchanted thread tighten between them.

Their hands were yanked together, palms pressing, fingers curling instinctively to catch the connection.

Delilah yelped. “Are you serious?!”

Rollo, eyes wide, gave a tug.

So did she.

The golden knot pulsed—then shimmered brighter and tightened .

They both froze.

“Oh,” said one of the twins, blinking. “Oops.”

“ Oops? ” Delilah snapped.

“It’s only temporary,” the other offered. “Just until dusk. Promise. It’s a harmony loop! It only binds people who?—”

“Finish that sentence,” Delilah growled, “and I will hex your eyebrows off.”

Fenny winced. “We really should’ve warded the display better…”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered.

Rollo looked at their joined hands and had the audacity to grin. “Well. Could be worse.”

She glared at him. “How?”

“We could be stuck at the outhouse.”

She elbowed him, and he laughed—but made no move to free his hand.

“Guess we’re bonded,” he said far too happily.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

She exhaled, slow. Tried to pull away again. Failed

They spent the rest of the day doing what they'd planned to do—just significantly closer than expected.

At the bakery stand, Delilah tried to hand over coins while Rollo awkwardly balanced the basket in their joined hands.

At the candle booth, she insisted on testing each scent, and Rollo had to sniff with her wrist pressed against his.

At one point, a crow from the wax paper stall squawked at them from a perch and said, “Awfully cozy,” in a raspy voice that made Delilah’s face go pink.

“You like this,” she accused as they shared a plate of seedcake near the musician’s circle.

“I’m not complaining,” Rollo admitted, tearing the cake in half and handing her the bigger piece. “I mean… you haven’t yelled at me once in three hours. That’s a record.”

“Because I can’t storm off. Not the same.”

He leaned a little closer. “So what you’re saying is, we should’ve been magically tied together from the beginning.”

She stared at him, lips twitching.

“You’re lucky your bear’s cute.”

They both laughed.

And for a heartbeat—longer than it should’ve been—it felt like nothing had changed. Like they were just two people who never got hurt, never said the wrong things, never left.

The golden cord between them pulsed, warm.

And Delilah realized with a rush of panic how easy it was to slip back in.