Page 38 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

The silence that followed his departure felt pregnant with possibility and questions, the natural pause that came after emotionally significant events.

Marigold was aware of Meadow's solid presence beside her, of Flint and Gus behind them in the hallway, of the way the evening had shifted now that they were back to the original group.

"Well," Flint said finally, breaking the contemplative quiet. "That was interesting."

"Interesting is one word for it," Gus agreed with a chuckle. "Though I have to say, he seems like a decent guy. Easy to see why you two were together."

The casual acceptance in his voice, the lack of judgment or possessiveness, reinforced Marigold's growing appreciation for the emotional maturity of the men in Meadow's pack.

There was no jealousy over her past relationship, no need to diminish Cypress in order to elevate themselves—just genuine assessment of character and acknowledgment of complexity.

"He is a good person," she agreed. "We just... weren't right for each other at the time. Maybe we were too young, too uncertain about what we wanted."

"And now?" Meadow asked quietly, the question carrying weight beyond its simple words.

Marigold turned to look at him, finding his brown eyes serious but not demanding, curious rather than controlling. The contrast with how other Alphas might handle this situation struck her forcefully—the trust implicit in his question, the space he was giving her to process and respond honestly.

"Now I know what I want," she told him, meaning it with a certainty that surprised her. "And it's not in the past."

The smile that spread across his face was warm and relieved and something else—hopeful, perhaps, or simply happy. It transformed his features from handsome to devastating, the kind of expression that made her heart skip beats and her stomach flutter with possibility.

"Good to know," he said simply, but there was satisfaction in his voice that suggested her answer was exactly what he hoped to hear.

"On that note," Flint announced with characteristic directness, "I think Gus and I should head home. Early morning tomorrow, and this feels like a conversation that might be better continued in smaller numbers."

"You don't have to leave," Marigold protested, though part of her was grateful for their intuitive understanding of the situation.

"We know," Gus said with a grin. "But we want to. Besides, someone needs to make sure Flint actually gets some sleep instead of staying up all night working on his latest forge project."

"It's not staying up all night if I start before midnight," Flint argued, though his tone suggested this was a long-standing debate between them.

"It's staying up all night if you're still hammering metal when I leave for the clinic at six AM," Gus countered. "Which has happened more than once."

Their easy banter provided a comfortable backdrop as they gathered their things and prepared to leave.

There were casual embraces all around—the kind of physical affection that spoke to deep friendship and chosen family bonds.

When Gus hugged her, he whispered something that made her laugh despite the emotional complexity of the evening.

"Take care of our boy," he murmured in her ear. "He's been alone too long."

The comment carried weight beyond its playful delivery, suggesting depths to Meadow's history that she was only beginning to understand.

But it was said with such warmth and obvious care that it felt like welcome rather than warning, an invitation to be part of something meaningful rather than an obligation to fix something broken.

After they left, the house felt different—quieter, more intimate, charged with the awareness that Meadow and she were finally alone together.

The evening's revelations hung between them like silk curtains, visible but not obstructive, adding texture to the space they now occupied together.

"How are you feeling?" Meadow asked as they stood in the living room, the dying fire casting dancing shadows across the walls. "That was a lot to process."

"Surprisingly okay," she answered after considering the question seriously. "Seeing Cypress again, talking about what happened between us... it was difficult, but also healing in a way I didn't expect."

Meadow nodded, settling back onto the couch and patting the cushion beside him in invitation. She accepted gratefully, sinking into the comfortable space and immediately feeling the warmth of his presence beside her.

"Sometimes the conversations we avoid are the ones we need most," he observed. "Even when—especially when—they're difficult."

"Is that experience talking?" she asked, curious about the shadows she'd glimpsed in his own past.

"In part," he admitted, his gaze focused on the fire rather than on her. "I've had my own share of difficult conversations that I put off longer than I should have. Sometimes avoiding pain just extends it."

The comment felt like a door opening, an invitation to deeper understanding that she wasn't sure whether to accept.

There was clearly more to Meadow's story than she knew—the mention of Eliza earlier, the weight Gus's comment carried about him being alone too long.

But pushing for information felt wrong when he'd just given her space to process her own revelations.

"Thank you," she said instead, choosing gratitude over curiosity. "For tonight, for handling Cypress being here with such grace, for not making me feel like I had to choose between past and present."

"You shouldn't have to choose," he replied, finally turning to meet her gaze. "Your past is part of what made you who you are, and who you are is..." He paused, searching for words. "Extraordinary. Complex. Worth knowing in all your dimensions."

The sincerity in his voice, the way he saw her history as enrichment rather than complication, made something tight in her chest finally relax completely.

This was what acceptance felt like, she realized—not tolerance or accommodation, but genuine appreciation for the full spectrum of human experience.

"What happens now?" she asked, the question encompassing more than just the immediate future. "With Cypress staying in town for a few weeks, with whatever this is between us, with all of it?"

Meadow considered the question seriously, his expression thoughtful in the firelight.

"Now we take it one day at a time," he said finally. "We see how things develop naturally instead of trying to force outcomes. We trust that if something is meant to be, it will find a way to flourish."

The wisdom in his approach appealed to her more than any declaration of grand passion or possessive claiming might have. There was patience in his philosophy, a willingness to let relationships develop organically rather than demanding immediate definition or commitment.

"I like that," she told him. "The idea of trusting the process instead of controlling it."

"Control is overrated anyway," he said with a slight smile. "Most of the best things in life happen when we're not trying to manage them."

As if to prove his point, he reached over and took her hand, the gesture simple but perfect in its timing. Their fingers intertwined with the kind of natural ease that suggested long familiarity rather than recent acquaintance, as if their hands were designed to fit together exactly this way.

"So," he said, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "About that offer to stay over tonight. Still interested?"

The question sent warmth cascading through her, desire mixing with affection and anticipation.

After the emotional intensity of the evening, the thought of staying here, of falling asleep in the guest room while Meadow slept just down the hall, felt like exactly what she needed.

"Very interested," she told him, meaning it with an intensity that surprised her.

"Good," he said simply, but his smile carried satisfaction and promise in equal measure. "Because I was hoping you'd say yes."