Page 6 of Must Love Moss and Moonshine (Moonshine Hollow)

KELLAN

I stepped into the forest, breathing in deeply.

My heart pounded in my chest. Had she noticed my voice seemed rusted, that I was unused to people?

Save for delivering bundles of moonshine plant to the herbalist in Moonshine Hollow, my interactions with others were limited to the creatures in my forest. I was a dryad. That was my life.

Yet, lately, I had found the solitude weighing on me.

I had even considered making a trip to the village for supplies just to see another person.

The fact that this Sylvan woman had somehow made her way to my doorstep dumbfounded me.

Perhaps she had slipped past the magical enchantments that protected the forest because of her heritage.

The Sylvans were nearest to my own kind in their love of nature.

What was she doing so far from Greenspire, her homeland?

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I refocused on my task.

I needed to collect more nightwing mushroom to brew a healing potion.

And I would need to look through my library.

Had the elders left anything on healing a broken mind?

Unlikely. My duty was to tend to bears with broken bones, eliminate bark mites and root rot, watch over the fragile wildlife, and maintain the balance of the forest.

And yet, there was nothing I wanted more than to look after her. In fact, she hadn’t left my thoughts since the moment I laid eyes on her. More than anything, I felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. And hold her, and nuzzle my nose into her neck, smell her hair…

No.

I would not think of it.

She was a woman who needed my care. That was all.

Making my way through the forest, I approached the wide star ash tree where the nightwing mushrooms grew.

The late-afternoon light filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows that danced across the forest floor.

The rich scent of decay and renewal rose from the earth, and beneath my feet, a carpet of fallen leaves whispered with each step.

The floppy fungus appeared like the wings of a bat against the silvery bark, their edges tinged with an ethereal blue glow.

I began selecting the best specimens, their flesh cool and velvet-soft against my fingers.

My mind wandered as I worked. It had been nearly a decade since I’d had feelings for the daughter of a farmer who lived on the edge of the forest. Isla, with her quick laugh and practical mind, had caught my attention during her herb-gathering trips.

Our romance had been sweet but brief, more a tender friendship that bloomed and faded like spring wildflowers.

When her family sold the farm and moved, we had parted with fond memories and no regrets.

And once, long ago, another dryad woman had been my lover.

Our relationship had been passionate but not serious, both of us knowing our paths would eventually diverge.

Still, the thought of a true companion had lingered in my quieter moments—someone to share both the work and wonder of the forest.

I exhaled heavily.

What troubles you, Guardian? the tree whispered to me.

“There is a Sylvan woman in my cabin. She was injured and her memories are missing.”

Then you must help her. That should be no trouble for you. It is what you do best.

“Yes, you are right.”

So, why are you troubled?

“Because… I am not troubled.”

The leaves on the tree quaked, a gesture like laughter in such living things. Do not fear your nature, Guardian. Deep below the earth, our roots touch one another, holding one another in gentle embraces.

“And I am not lonely,” I said, rising, my basket full.

Annoyed, I began to stalk off.

Behind me, however, the tree quaked once more then said, I never said you were .

* * *

When I returned to the cabin, I entered quietly, not wanting to disturb her.

Marvelle lifted his head from the nest he’d made in an empty clay herb pot on my potting shelf.

She was asleep once more. Setting the basket full of mushrooms down, I leaned against a supporting pole and paused, watching her.

She lay in my bed, her breath slow and even, her raven-black hair spilling over my pillow.

I’d never imagined having anyone in my cottage, let alone a beautiful woman.

The way her face softened in sleep made something catch in my chest. She looked so serene.

And, if I let myself admit it, beautiful in a way that felt both tender and dangerous.

Dangerous to my solitude. Dangerous to my way of life.

There was something intoxicating in knowing she was right here, within reach, her warmth and comfort only inches away.

I could picture myself slipping into the bed beside her, feeling the curve of her against me, her skin warm beneath my touch.

I imagined how she might stir and turn to me, a drowsy smile on her face.

I envisioned pressing my lips against hers, tasting elderberries, feeling her melt into me.

I wanted to trace my fingers over her cheek, down her neck, feel her shiver under my hand.

The thought alone made me ache, but it was more than just desire.

It was the quiet longing to belong to someone and to have them belong here, with me.

I let myself imagine it, the softness of her sigh, the way her hand might find mine in the dark, how she’d fit perfectly beside me, breathing in sync.

A wild hope began to blossom in my heart. I had barely spoken a dozen words to this beauty. Yet here I was, imagining a life with her. How ridiculous and inappropriate.

I exhaled a shuddering breath then moved to my reading alcove.

Shelves lined with leather-bound volumes climbed toward the ceiling, their spines crackling with age and magic.

As I searched, the setting sun painted the room in deepening shades of amber and rose, its light catching dust motes that danced like fairy lights in the air.

Each tome held the collected wisdom of guardians past, their pages rich with the earthen scent of time and knowledge.

Through the window, I watched the sky transform from blue to gold, then to deep rose threaded with purple clouds.

The ancient oak outside cast intricate shadows across the room, its patterns shifting as the breeze stirred its leaves.

Lighting a lantern, I turned to the books tucked away in the farthest corner.

There, the dryad Fernella, one of the earliest caretakers of Silver Vale, kept her records.

She had once lived in Moonshine Hollow, back when there were fewer than a dozen families in the village.

Perhaps within her writings lay the key to healing a wounded mind.

I set the stack of the dryad’s crumbling journals on the table beside me. Then, moving quietly, I returned to the fire in the main room of the cabin and bent to pour myself a mug of honeyed herbs.

To my surprise, the woman laughed in her sleep and then said, “Bromir, you are being ridiculous, you squishable tree stump.” She giggled once more then turned in her sleep, pulling my blanket tighter around her chin. Sighing contentedly, she drifted off again.

Two thoughts struck my mind at once. First, the strong longing to cuddle under the blanket beside her.

I imagined nestling close, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine.

And then, an unexpected flash of jealousy.

Bromir? A dwarven name, perhaps? Maybe a rune elf? Did she already have a lover?

Chiding my thoughts, I returned to my studies.

I needed to find a way to help this woman regain her memories.

Perhaps a husband and family waited for her.

Maybe she had children. My own imaginings weighed nothing more than those motes of dust. She had a real life I knew nothing about.

Only circumstance had thrown her here, in the middle of the forest, alone with me.

More than anything, I wanted to care for her, see her well again, and see her happy—even if that meant helping her rush back to the arms of another man.