Page 39 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

FIRELIGHT CONFESSIONS

~ M EADOW~

The living room settled into a comfortable quiet after Flint and Gus's departure, their absence leaving behind the lingering warmth of friendship and the promise of tomorrow's shared work.

Meadow watched as Marigold curled deeper into the corner of the couch, her white dress pooling around her like spilled moonlight against the worn leather cushions.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting everything in soft amber light that seemed to smooth the edges of the world, making the space feel separate from time and consequence.

"More wine?" he asked, noting how her glass had somehow emptied during the emotional intensity of the evening's conversations. The bottle Cypress had brought sat on the coffee table, still half full, the label catching firelight in a way that suggested expensive taste beneath his modest claims.

"Please," she said, her voice carrying the slight looseness that spoke to relaxation rather than intoxication. "I think I need it after tonight."

Meadow poured generous measures into both their glasses, the dark liquid catching the fire's glow like liquid garnets.

As he handed her the refilled glass, their fingers brushed—a contact so brief it might have been accidental, yet the spark that traveled up his arm suggested nothing about their interactions was ever truly casual anymore.

"To unexpected reunions," he said, raising his glass in a toast that encompassed both the complexity of Cypress's arrival and the strange gift of closure it had provided.

"To moving forward," she countered, her own glass meeting his with a crystalline chime that seemed to resonate in the quiet room. "Whatever that looks like."

They drank in comfortable silence, the wine warming Meadow's chest and loosening some of the careful control he'd maintained throughout the evening.

Watching Marigold navigate the emotional minefield of seeing Cypress again had filled him with a mixture of admiration and protective instinct that he was still processing.

She'd handled it with grace, but he could see the toll it had taken in the slight tension around her eyes, the way she held herself as if braced for further revelations.

"How are you really doing?" he asked, settling back into his corner of the couch and angling his body toward her. "I know you said you were okay, but tonight was a lot."

Marigold considered the question seriously, swirling her wine in slow circles that caught the firelight. "It was strange," she admitted finally. "Seeing him again, hearing him apologize... I'd imagined that conversation so many times over the years, and it never went the way it actually did."

"Better or worse than your imagination?"

"Different." She took another sip of wine, her gaze focused on the dancing flames rather than on him.

"In my head, he was either completely unrepentant—which would have justified my anger—or devastatingly romantic about wanting me back, which would have been its own kind of problem.

I never imagined he'd just be... honest. Genuinely sorry without expecting anything in return. "

Meadow nodded, understanding the disorientation that came when reality refused to conform to the stories they told themselves. "Closure rarely looks the way we expect it to."

"No," she agreed, her voice thoughtful. "But it feels good. Like finally setting down a weight I didn't realize I was still carrying."

The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, and Marigold shifted on the couch, tucking her feet under her in a way that made her seem smaller, more vulnerable.

The wine was definitely having an effect—not making her drunk, but softening the careful composure she usually maintained, allowing glimpses of the woman beneath the protective layers.

"Can I ask you something?" Meadow said, studying her profile in the firelight. The question had been building in him all evening, sparked by watching her work at the ranch, seeing her throw herself into physical labor with the same dedication she'd once brought to ballet.

"Of course."

"How are you liking the ranch so far? The work, I mean. It's got to be different from anything you've done before."

A genuine smile spread across her face, the first completely unguarded expression he'd seen from her since Cypress's arrival. "I love it," she said simply, the sincerity in her voice unmistakable. "It's hard work—harder than I expected, honestly—but I genuinely love it. Everything about it."

The admission pleased him more than he'd expected. He'd seen her dedication, her willingness to tackle any task without complaint, but hearing her voice her enjoyment felt like a gift.

"What do you love about it?"

"The routine, for one thing." She gestured with her wine glass, the movement graceful even in relaxation.

"In the city, everything was always buzzing and crazy.

There was never a moment of real stillness, never time to just..

. breathe. Here, there's rhythm to the days. Purpose that feels solid, you know?"

Meadow did know. It was one of the reasons he'd never been tempted to leave Willowbend for bigger opportunities. There was something grounding about work that connected directly to the land, to the care of living things, to cycles that predated human ambition.

"The last few weeks of being here have been life-changing," she continued, her voice taking on a dreamy quality that suggested the wine was definitely relaxing her inhibitions.

"I wake up knowing what I'm going to do, knowing it matters, knowing that at the end of the day I'll be tired in a good way.

Not stressed tired or performance tired, but satisfied tired. "

"What was your routine like before?" he asked, genuinely curious about the world she'd left behind. "If you don't mind explaining."

Marigold leaned back against the couch cushions, her head finding a comfortable spot against his shoulder with a naturalness that sent warmth radiating through his chest. The contact was innocent—or mostly innocent—but the trust implicit in the gesture made his breath catch slightly.

"Oh god," she said with a laugh that held little humor.

"It was insane. I'd wake up at four-thirty every morning for a protein shake and vitamins.

Five o'clock was warm-up and stretching at home.

Six to nine was company class—that's group training with all the dancers.

Nine-thirty to noon was rehearsal for whatever piece we were working on.

Lunch was usually a salad and more vitamins, eaten while reviewing video of previous performances to spot mistakes. "

She paused to take another sip of wine, and Meadow found himself stroking her hair almost unconsciously, the silky strands sliding through his fingers like water.

"Afternoons were individual coaching sessions or more rehearsals.

Evenings were either performances or more training.

Dinner was calculated down to the macronutrient, and bedtime was whenever my body finally collapsed.

Seven days a week, except for the occasional injury day when I'd do physical therapy instead. "

The schedule she described sounded like a form of beautiful torture to Meadow, who'd built his life around balance and sustainability. "That sounds exhausting."

"It was," she agreed, her voice growing quieter. "But I thought it was necessary. I thought that's what it took to be great, to be worthy of the opportunities I'd been given."

"Did your sister always have some sort of... resentment against you?" The question came out more bluntly than he'd intended, but the wine had loosened his own tongue as well. "Or was it something that developed over time?"

Marigold was quiet for a long moment, her body growing heavier against his shoulder in a way that suggested she was sinking deeper into both the wine's effects and painful memories.

"I noticed little instances," she said finally. "Small comments that seemed like sibling rivalry, which is pretty normal in our industry. Ballet is competitive by nature—even between sisters, especially between twins who were constantly compared to each other."

She shifted against him, turning slightly so she could watch the fire while still maintaining their contact. The flames reflected in her eyes, making them look liquid and distant, as if she was seeing something far beyond the present moment.

"But never to the extent that she pulled in the end. I thought we were competing in a healthy way, pushing each other to be better. I didn't realize she saw it as a zero-sum game where my success meant her failure."

The sadness in her voice made Meadow's chest tighten with protective anger toward a woman he'd never met. To betray a sibling's trust so completely, to use intimate knowledge of their vulnerabilities as weapons—it spoke to a kind of cruelty he couldn't fathom.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, his hand continuing its gentle movement through her hair. "That must have been devastating to realize."

"It was," she whispered, her gaze still fixed on the dancing flames.

"Because it meant that everything I thought I knew about my life was wrong.

Not just my relationship with her, but with everyone.

If she could lie to my face for years while planning my downfall, what did that say about my judgment? About my ability to trust anyone?"

The question hung in the air between them, weighted with implications that extended far beyond her relationship with Magnolia. Meadow could hear the doubt beneath her words, the way betrayal had shaken her faith in her own perceptions.

"You're not responsible for other people's deception," he told her, meaning every word. "Someone's ability to lie convincingly doesn't reflect poorly on your ability to trust. It reflects poorly on their character, not yours."