Page 21 of Never Been Gargoyled (Harmony Glen #4)

Feydin

I watched Dazy lean against the door, her shoulders sagging as she stared at the legal papers in her hands. Every instinct I had screamed at me to do something, anything, to take that defeated look off her face.

“So what does this mean exactly?” she asked, holding up the cease-and-desist order. “Do I have to stop working on the estate or move out?”

“No.” I took the papers from her and read through them again more carefully. “This is just a strongly worded letter from Rebecca's lawyers. It's not legally binding.”

Her head snapped up. “It's not?”

“Think of it as a threat. They're hoping to intimidate you into compliance, but they have no legal authority to stop you from working on your own property.”

“But it sounds so official. All the language about restraining orders and court orders. ”

“Because they want it to sound intimidating.” I set the papers on the hall table.

“For this to have any legal weight, they'd need to file a motion with the court and get a judge to issue an actual temporary restraining order.

That takes time and effort, and they'd have to prove you're causing irreparable harm to the property.”

“Could anyone say I’m causing irreparable harm by restoring the gardens?”

“Hardly. If anything, you're increasing the property value.” I studied her face, trying to read her mood. She looked less panicked now, but still worried. “They're fishing, Dazy. Trying to see if you'll roll over without a fight.”

“Then I can keep working on the estate?”

“Absolutely. Until a judge tells you otherwise, this is still your property, and you can do whatever you want with it.”

She threw her arms around me. The sudden contact made my wings flare, but I wrapped my arms around her waist and held her close.

“Thank you,” she said against my chest. “I don’t know what all this means, and I’m worried I’ll lose everything.”

Her body was warm and soft against mine, and I could smell the lingering scent of the flower petals from her bath in her hair. The urge to protect her, to shield her from every worry and stress, was overwhelming.

“They're trying to wear you down,” I said. “Make you think the fight isn't worth it.”

“Is it worth it?” She pulled back to look at me, her brown eyes uncertain. “I’m serious. They could get a real court order. What if Rebecca wins and I lose everything anyway?”

“We’ll worry about that then. I'm not giving up, and neither should you.”

She searched my face for a long moment, then nodded. “You're right. We fight.”

“We fight.”

She stepped back, and I immediately missed her warmth. “What's our next move?”

“We find those letters.”

We spent the next two hours searching through the library systematically.

I took the filing cabinets while Dazy went through the desk drawers and bookshelves.

We found plenty of interesting things from old photos, to expired warranties, plus recipes written in Helga's careful handwriting. But no letters from Rebecca.

“Maybe she threw them away.” Dazy closed the last desk drawer with a sigh.

“She may have kept them somewhere else. We'll check her bedroom tomorrow, and the basement filing cabinets. We’ll look everywhere until we find them.”

I could see the exhaustion creeping in around her eyes. The day had been emotionally draining, from her breakdown on the front steps to our interrupted encounter to the legal papers that had arrived like a slap in the face.

“You should eat something,” I said. “And get some rest. ”

“I should make dinner.” She rubbed her temples. “I was thinking I’d make lasagna. Comfort food.”

“I can help.”

“Only one cook in my kitchen,” she said with a tired laugh. “Tonight, I’ll cook for you. Tomorrow, it’s your turn.”

What could I make?

That’s when I realized she was not only inviting me to dinner but into her life to prepare our next shared meals. My heart was thudding fast enough to outrun horses.

Could she adore me the same way I did her?

“I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready,” she said.

After she left for the kitchen, I stood alone in the library, surrounded by the chaos of our search. Papers were scattered across the floor, books pulled from shelves, drawers left open. It looked like a tornado had blown through.

The need to do something useful, something that would help Dazy, gnawed at me, so I straightened the room. After, I couldn't sit still, couldn't read or research or pretend to relax.

Then I remembered the greenhouse attached to the back of the house, a beautiful glass structure that had been Helga's favorite place in her younger years. So she’d told me. It had been neglected for decades, filled with dead plants, broken pots, and years of accumulated debris.

If I could clean it out, set it up properly, Dazy could use it to start seedlings for the botanical garden she dreamed of creating. Even if she lost the estate, she could take the plants with her wherever she went.

The greenhouse was worse than I remembered. Cobwebs draped across the insides like funeral shrouds, and the smell of decay nearly overwhelmed me. Moldy leaves squished under my feet as I made my way through the space, assessing what needed to be done.

Everything. Everything needed to be done.

I started by opening the windows, then clearing out the dead plants and broken pots, making trip after trip to the compost pile behind the garden shed. The physical work felt good, giving me an outlet for the frustration and helplessness that had been building all day.

As I worked, I found myself thinking about what I was doing. Doing all I could to show her I cared. A gargoyle providing for his mate, creating a space where she could pursue her passions and build her dreams.

But what if those dreams couldn't be built here? Rebecca could win and Dazy would have to leave. What would happen to us then?

I'd never considered what my life might look like away from this estate. For years, my entire existence had been tied to this place. I was the house gargoyle, the guardian of these grounds. It was my purpose, my identity.

But watching Dazy work in the gardens, seeing her light up when she talked about her plans for the estate, I'd realized something that should have terrified me.

This place was just stone and earth and growing things. It was beautiful, yes, and full of history and memories. But it wasn't alive. It couldn't laugh at my awkward jokes or hum unconsciously while we worked side by side. It couldn't kiss me breathless or look at me like I was precious.

Dazy could do all those things. Dazy was alive and vibrant and everything I'd never known I wanted.

I worked through the evening, cleaning and organizing and setting up the greenhouse. This was my way of showing her what she meant to me without having to find the words.

By the time I’d finished, the space had been transformed. Clean glass let in the moonlight, revealing organized shelves, sanitized growing tables, and neat rows of pots ready for planting. I'd even managed to get the old heating system working again.

It wasn't perfect, but it was functional. A place where Dazy could grow things, nurture them, watch them flourish under her care.

A place where she could be happy, even if everything else fell apart.

I stood back and surveyed my work, dirt under my fingernails and satisfaction warming my chest. Tomorrow, when she discovered what I'd done, maybe she'd smile that brilliant smile of hers.

She might even look at me the way she had earlier, when I'd showed her the bath. Like I was someone worth keeping.

The sound of the kitchen door opening drifted across the garden, followed by the warm scent of herbs and melted cheese .

“Feydin?” she called out.

Dazy must’ve finished cooking, and she'd probably want to eat while the lasagna was hot.

After washing up at the sink, I headed back through the house, already planning how I'd reveal the greenhouse to her. I could do it after breakfast tomorrow, when she was rested and more herself again.

Maybe then I'd find the courage to tell her how I felt.

Or maybe I'd just keep showing her through my actions, one restored greenhouse at a time.