Page 21 of Horned to be Wild (Harmony Glen #7)
S ix weeks later…
Autumn light streamed through the newly installed skylights, painting golden rectangles across the gleaming hardwood floor of what had once been Lila’s ramshackle cottage.
The musty scent of decay that had greeted her on her first day in Harmony Glen had been replaced by the crisp smell of fresh paint, polished wood, and the faint sweetness of linseed oil.
She stepped back, tilting her head to appraise the arrangement of vibrant botanical prints beside Torin’s miniature wooden sculptures.
They complemented each other beautifully—the soft washes of color playing against the textured solidity of the carved wood.
She made a small adjustment, shifting one frame a quarter-inch to the left, then nodded in satisfaction.
Perfect.
A month had passed since she’d officially moved into Torin’s cabin—their cabin now.
The decision had been natural, inevitable, really.
Her small cottage, while charming, couldn’t compare to the much larger cabin.
Besides, he needed his workshop, and she loved the cozy evenings spent in front of his massive stone fireplace, curled next to him as he read and she sketched.
The cottage, though, had found a new purpose.
When he suggested transforming it into a workshop and gallery space, she’d been delighted by the idea.
They’d worked side by side for weeks, reinforcing the old building while maintaining the original charm.
He’d replaced the roof and rebuilt the living room where the tree had fallen.
She’d refinished the floors and painted all the walls.
She smiled at the memory as she adjusted a small sign inviting visitors to touch the small wooden sculptures—a revolutionary concept for Torin, who’d initially balked at the idea of strangers handling his work.
“Art isn’t just for the eyes,” she told him. “Some pieces need to be felt to be truly understood.”
As she suspected, he understood and agreed to the experiment. The botanical prints weren’t her work, but the work of a delightful young elf female. It had been his idea to include other local artists, expanding their vision beyond just their own work.
“There’s talent in Harmony Glen that deserves to be seen,” he told her. From the minotaur who’d once hidden his carvings away, afraid of judgment and dismissal, his statement was nothing short of revolutionary.
The tinkle of the bell above the door pulled her from her thoughts.
Mabel trotted in, her hooves clicking against the hardwood, followed by Torin, who had to duck slightly to clear the doorframe.
His presence still took her breath away—all seven feet of him, powerful and imposing, yet so gentle with her, with his art, with everything he truly cared about.
“You’ve been busy,” he observed, his amber eyes taking in the completed display.
“Just finishing up before tomorrow’s open house. Mrs. Gable is bringing her entire book club, and Marigold promised to spread the word among her flower delivery customers.” She wiped her hands on her paint-splattered jeans and gave him an anxious look. “What do you think?”
He moved to stand beside her, his warmth radiating through the space between them. “It’s good,” he said simply, but she could hear the pride in his voice. “They’ll come.”
Mabel, bored with their artistic contemplation, wandered over to the small bowl of treats Lila kept specifically for her visits.
The little goat had, unsurprisingly, taken to the gallery conversion with enthusiasm, apparently approving of any project that gave her more spaces to explore and more people to charm.
“Careful with those,” she warned as Mabel butted the treat bowl with her head. “You’ve already had plenty today.”
He laughed. “She knows exactly what she’s doing. Always has.”
“Of course she does. She’s the smartest goat in Harmony Glen. Aren’t you, Mabel?” She scratched between the goat’s horns, earning a contented bleat in response.
Torin moved to the back of the gallery, where a simple workbench held her painting supplies and a smaller version of his carving tools.
It was their shared creative space, arranged so they could work alongside each other during quieter times in the gallery.
The sight of their tools mingled together—her brushes beside his chisels, her palette next to his sanding blocks—never failed to fill her with a profound sense of rightness.
He pulled a large, carefully wrapped package, secured with twine and brown paper, out from behind the workbench and set it on up.
“What’s that?” she asked.
A hint of shyness crossed his features. It was an expression she’d come to treasure—the powerful minotaur momentarily vulnerable, uncertain. “It’s for you.”
She moved over to join him, running her fingers lightly over the wrapped package. Whatever lay inside was large, nearly four feet across. “What’s the occasion?”
“Does there need to be one?” he asked gruffly, but she could see the warmth in his eyes.
She smiled up at him. “No. Of course not.”
She carefully untied the twine and peeled back the brown paper wrapping, then gasped as the last fold fell away.
The package contained a wooden frame unlike anything she’d ever seen.
It was clearly Torin’s work, but he’d surpassed himself in every way.
The carved “doorway” echoed the designs they’d created for the elementary school library, but this was infinitely more complex, more personal.
The entire frame told a story—their story.
She traced her fingers over the intricate carvings.
Here was Mabel, captured in perfect mischievous detail.
There was a tiny replica of her great aunt’s cottage as it had first appeared, weathered and neglected.
Further along, she recognized scenes from their journey together: the broken carving they’d repaired, the paint-splattered workshop, the thunderstorm that had driven her to his door.
The detailed carvings covered the bottom half of the frame but the top half was smooth, polished wood, ready for their next adventures.
And within the frame—a pristine, blank canvas, perfectly sized to fit the wooden doorway, waiting for her touch.
“This is…” Her voice caught. “I don’t even have words.”
“I was thinking about those doorways we made for the children. How they were meant to be portals into other worlds.” He tapped the blank canvas with one large finger. “This one’s different. It’s not a doorway into someone else’s story. It’s a doorway into ours.”
Her eyes welled with tears as she understood the profound symbolism of his gift. “A blank canvas,” she whispered. “Ready for whatever we create together.”
She looked up at him, this imposing creature who had opened his heart to her, who had trusted her with his art and his deepest fears. The minotaur who had once believed himself unworthy of love or recognition now stood before her, offering a future of endless possibility.
“Do you like it?” he asked, a hint of his old uncertainty creeping into his voice.
Instead of answering, she went up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love it,” she said against his lips. “And I love you.”
His powerful arms encircled her, lifting her easily until they were face to face. “Our future, Lila,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “The future we carve out together.”
He kissed her, a kiss that held all the promise of that future—all the joy, the passion, the trust, the love. A kiss that sealed their bond and opened a thousand doorways, each leading to a new story waiting to be written.
When they finally broke apart, she was breathless. She rested her forehead against his, their breath mingling in the quiet of the gallery.
“Where should we hang it?” she asked.
He glanced around the gallery, then shook his head.
“Not here,” he decided. “This is for sharing with others. That—” he nodded towards the frame, “—is just for us.”
She nodded, understanding perfectly. “Above our fireplace, then. Where we can see it every day.”
“And when you’re ready to fill that canvas, I’ll be right there beside you.” His amber eyes held a warmth that still amazed her, this minotaur who had once been so closed off, so afraid of connection.
As if sensing the emotional moment, Mabel butted her head against his leg, demanding attention and she laughed.
“Some things never change,” she said, bending to scratch the goat’s ears.
“And some things do,” he said softly, his gaze sweeping over the transformed cottage, the gallery filled with art, and finally landing on her. “For the better.”
Outside, the late autumn breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the promise of winter, of evenings spent before the fire, of shared meals and shared dreams. She turned back to the blank canvas within its ornate frame.
Someday soon, she would lift her brush and begin to fill that empty space with color and life.
But there was no rush. The beauty of a blank canvas was its potential, its readiness to become anything.
Just like their future.
He came to her side and placed his hand on her shoulder. She reached up to cover it with her own, enjoying the contrast between her smooth skin and his calloused palm.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, her heart full. “Ready.”
Together, they carefully lifted the frame, this tangible symbol of their shared future, and carried it home to the cabin in the woods, where Mabel trotted happily ahead, leading the way as she always had.
In the gallery behind them, sunlight continued to stream through the skylights, illuminating the art they’d chosen to share with the world—his carvings, her paintings, and the works of their friends and neighbors.
Tomorrow, the people of Harmony Glen would gather here, admiring what they’d built together.
But today—today was just for them.
Marigold’s story is up next in Satyrday Night Fever !
Horned to be Wild is part of the multi-author, shared world, Harmony Glen series. Each book is a standalone story and the books can be read in any order. Read them all and visit Harmony Glen again and again!