Page 25

CORA

T wyla Honeytree’s blessing dinners were legendary, or so Cora had been warned. But nothing could’ve prepared her for the magic of it.

It wasn’t the spells, or at least, not the kind cast with wands or whispered words. It was the way the entire town showed up just as the fireflies began to stir, how laughter wove through the trees like silk, how the wind smelled like rosemary and roasted peaches.

The glade behind the Griddle & Grind had been transformed.

Tables stretched beneath a canopy of fairy lanterns strung through the branches, each one glowing with a warmth that hummed of hearth and hope.

Bright quilts had been draped over logs and benches, hand-stitched and mismatched, soft with years of stories soaked into their seams.

Cora stood near the outer edge, fingers curled around a honey-sweet mug of spiced cider, soaking it all in. She wore a deep green wrap dress that Twyla had “accidentally” left on her cottage hook that morning, with a note: Wear it. And brush your hair, stardust.

She had. Mostly.

“Tell me you’re not hiding back here,” a voice teased.

Cora turned to see Maeve leaning against a tree, looking entirely too smug in a dark wine-colored tunic and leather pants that made her look like she belonged in a tavern ballad.

“I’m not hiding,” Cora said, though it sounded unconvincing even to her. “I’m surveying.”

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m warm.”

Maeve’s smirk widened. “Sure.”

Cora smiled, though her heart fluttered in her chest. “I just—this is a lot.”

Maeve tilted her head, sharp eyes softening. “Good lot, though. You belong here. We see it, even if you don’t yet. And you need this. Hell, I think we all do about now.”

Cora looked out over the crowd. Edgar Tansley was juggling glowing fruit while children shrieked with laughter.

Miriam was serving her famous buttered rolls from a basket lined in plaid.

Even Emmett Hollowell was there, nodding politely from the edge of the circle, arms folded like always but face softer than usual.

And there, across the table-lined clearing, stood Callum.

He wasn’t dressed up. That man barely changed out of his fitted work shirts and worn boots, but tonight the sleeves had been rolled, and the buttons undone just enough to see the curve of his collarbone of his flannel.

His hair was tousled from either wind or stubbornness.

His eyes found her through the crowd, and that one look had her heat spiking under her skin.

“I’m not sure if I’m dreaming,” she whispered.

Maeve laughed. “Then don’t wake up. Just go walk over and let him look at you like that from a little closer.”

Cora hesitated. “You think he…?”

“Cora.” Maeve looked almost offended. “The man looks at you like you’re the first spell that’s ever worked.”

That pushed her over the edge.

Cora made her way across the glade, skirt brushing against wild thyme and clover, cider warm in her hand and something even warmer fluttering in her chest. When she stopped in front of him, Callum didn’t say anything at first. He just stared, blue eyes tracing her face like he was memorizing it.

“You clean up alright,” he said finally, voice rough but fond.

“You’re not so bad yourself, ranger.”

He gestured to her cider. “That spiked?”

“Nope. I’m high on roasted vegetables and compliments.”

He smiled. Barely, but it reached his eyes.

Twyla’s voice rang out from the center of the clearing, cutting through the soft hum of conversation.

“Alright, my loves. We’re gathered tonight because the Veil’s restless, and times are strange—but that’s not new, is it?

What’s new is strength, right here.” She pointed toward Callum and Cora, eyes twinkling.

“Our town holds strong because we’ve got bonds forming where the magic needs it most. The forest listens. So should we.”

A cheer broke out, loud and playful. Someone hollered, “Bless the Veil and the ranger’s future wife!”

Cora nearly choked on her cider. Callum’s ears turned pink.

Twyla didn’t miss a beat. “Now, now. Don’t go picking wedding dates just yet. But I do believe in honoring what the Veil wants. And tonight, it seems to want joy. Connection. Maybe a little matchmaking. So eat, drink, and let yourselves be seen.”

Cora turned to Callum, wide-eyed.

“I didn’t plan this,” he muttered.

“I figured,” she said with a soft laugh. “Your matchmaking skills don’t usually involve roasted squash and dancing.”

“I do like squash,” he said, eyes serious.

She bit her lip, holding back a grin. “Good to know.”

As the music started with a fiddle and soft drums they sat at one of the edge tables. The food was simple but perfect: spiced root veggies, braised greens, warm apple tarts. Cora watched him across the table, his broad hands curled around a mug, his shoulders finally relaxing.

He caught her watching.

“What?”

She shrugged. “I think I’m starting to believe this place wants me.”

“It does.” He didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Her breath caught with skeptic hope. “Even with…”

He leaned in. “All of it.”

They didn’t kiss. They didn’t need to. The warmth between them buzzed like a thread pulled taut, humming with possibility. That declaration was more than enough.

But beneath it, a quiet question still rested in the back of her mind. Elric. The altar. The storm she knew was still gathering.

Callum must’ve sensed it. “You alright?”

She nodded. “I just—sometimes when everything’s this good, it’s hard not to wait for it to break.”

His jaw ticked. “We don’t break. We bend. That’s what Hollow Oak’s made for. And if I can start to realize that, then you can too.”

That settled something deep inside her.

As the stars pushed their way through the sky, as music and laughter bloomed louder, Cora let herself believe. Maybe this wasn’t a borrowed dream. Maybe this town—the people, the magic, the grumpy lion sitting beside her—wanted her to stay.

Because she knew in her heart, she didn’t want to run anymore. Not from this.