Page 8

Chapter

Seven

SIGHT OF A CHRISTMAS FAIRY

Willow

“I never doubted magic existed. How could I? When he exists.” —W

“ I feel like the first time your parents and I dropped you off for preschool,” Uncle Cianne says from behind me as I walk toward the room where the meeting between my team and the resort’s owner is about to take place. Late last night, I learned from one of my colleagues, Cleo, that the hotel owner’s publicist had reached out to Green Planet Lab, asking us to promote the hotel during our stay as a dual opportunity for good press.

I’m not sure why such an incredibly beautiful and successful hotel would need additional publicity when its etherealness and luxury speaks for itself. However, I understand why our lab is eager to participate. The exposure can attract sponsors and donors, which ultimate supports our projects and helps us make impactful contributions to science. I usually avoid press opportunities for the research lab because I get too nervous and overthink everything, struggling to find the right words. I prefer to work behind the scenes, where I feel more comfortable. But for the sake of science and to secure better funding, I’m determined to push through my fear this time. So, I’m on my way to meet the hotel owner with Cleo, Ethan, Bernie and Maya who are waiting for me.

“You don’t have to come with me Uncle. I’m okay. Really.” I give him a reassuring smile, which he instantly returns. I love my family, and I understand why I have to have on-the-clock security. I’ve always known it, and I’ve never made a big deal of it. My father is who he is, and this is the life I was born into— a beautiful one, though filled with risks because of who my father, aunts, and uncles are.

Uncle leans closer and bops my nose before saying, “I’ll be close by. I’ll always give you your space, Orla, but I’m here if you need me.”

I nod with a smile.

All my aunts, uncles, and even my cousins have sweet names for me, but there’s something especially endearing about Uncle Cianne’s nickname for me, Golden Princess.

With another smile my uncle’s way, I take a deep breath, feeling nervous. My hands are clammy, and my heart is racing like crazy, but I push the nerves down.

“You got this, kid.” He reaches forward and pulls open the heavy double doors of the conference room. The low hum of conversation from inside spills out, and I can feel the gaze of every person in the room, even before I step in.

“Knock ‘em dead with that beautiful brain of yours, Willow.”

I turn slightly to meet my uncle’s eyes, and the reassuring smile he gives me is all I need. I feel his love and support spread through me, grounding me.

“Thanks, Uncle.” I mouth.

With a final nod, he steps back, giving me room to enter. I take another big breath, hold it, and step forward, into the room that feels less intimidating now. Uncle Cianne’s reassuring words echo in my mind. “I’ll be close by. I’ll always give you your space, Orla, but I’m here if you need me.” I gather my resolve, adjust my backpack and straighten my posture.

I step into the room and all eyes turn my way. Their faces light up with genuine smiles as they spot me, and I can’t help but feel a surge of relief and happiness when I see familiar faces.

“ Hey, guys ,” I sign as I cross the room towards where they’re seated at. The warm, welcoming energy in the room feels like a hug, and now that I’m surrounded by my team, the knot of anxiety in my chest begins to loosen.

One by one, they stand to greet me, and I can see the spark of enthusiasm in their eyes. It’s clear they’re not just excited about the meeting, but about being here in Brazil, too. Green Planet Lab gathered the best in our field for this research trip. We are a team with different specialties but with the same goal.

To help the planet.

Maya Dávila, our Mycologist with a specialty in fungal and taxonomy and systematics is the first to catch my eye. Maya’s beauty is striking, with her rich, warm complexion and expressive dark eyes that seem to sparkle with every joyous laugh. She’s Puerto Rican, and there’s something so effortlessly captivating about her, from the way her dark curls cascade over her shoulders to the way she smiles, radiating genuine warmth and friendliness. “Willow! You’re here. Aren’t you so excited to be in Brazil?” Maya exclaims while signing, her eyes shining the same as the twinkling Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. “It’s so beautiful and oh my God the Christmas decor is so fun. It reminds me of Christmas in Puerto Rico.”

“It is really beautiful ,” I sign while joining them at the table. I take a seat, feeling the soft cushion beneath me, and glance around at their smiling faces.

“Glad you made it okay, honey.” Next to Maya is Bernie, our Plant-Microbe ecologist. Bernie Castillo is a medium-built handsome Dominican man. His skin is a striking rich brown while his eyes look just like melting honey. Bernie is the life of the room in any setting with his mischievous smiles and playful nature.

“We’re so lucky to be chosen. This is going to be one awesome Christmas.” Cleo is sitting across from us, and her presence as always is both calming and engaging. Just like Maya, Cleo is very beautiful but whereas Maya’s beauty is exotic, Cleo has the type of beauty that is rare with her fair skin and black as night, wavy hair. Her eyes are a soft blue that light up every time she talks about things she loves. Like me, Cleo is a bit reserved and shy.

Finally, there’s Ethan, seated beside Cleo. He’s a handsome white man with kind eyes and a warm, easy smile. His eyes are a striking shade of gray that complement his light brown hair. Ethan has this effortless charisma that makes people feel safe when around him.

“I’ve saved you a spot,” Ethan signs with a grin, gesturing to the empty chair next to him. The conversation picks up seamlessly as I take my seat. Placing my backpack and notebook on top of the marvel table, I feel a wave of contentment wash over me.

You’re safe here, Willow… I tell myself as I pull up the rest of my note for this project.

“Alright, let’s get into the specifics of our research, shall we?” Maya begins. “Aside from delving into fungi and their fascinating parallels with human biology we’re also here to find endangered species of fungi to document it.” That’s the part of our research that brings me the most joy.

Maya nods eagerly. “Yes! I’m particularly interested in studying the symbiotic relationships fungi have with their environment. From my research I gather that Brazil’s diverse ecosystems offer a unique opportunity to study these interactions in depth. The way certain fungi form mutualistic relationships with plants and other organisms has always been so interesting to me and it could give us valuable insights into their roles in nutrient cycling and ecosystem health.”

Yup. That too.

Bernie leans forward, clearly excited about his focus. “I’m diving into the effects of fungal symbiosis on plant health, growth, and resistance to disease. I’m also very excited to study the record structural similarities between fungi and human cells. It’s incredible how fungi have cell walls that are structurally similar to our own cell membranes in some ways. Exploring these similarities could help us understand how fungi might offer new perspectives on human health and disease.”

Cleo, with a thoughtful expression, adds, “I’m really fascinated by the potential medical applications of fungi. Their ability to produce a variety of bioactive compounds is just astonishing. I’m eager to investigate indigenous knowledge about medicinal fungi and how these traditional uses align with modern scientific findings.”

Ethan chimes in with a grin, “And I’m looking into the evolutionary aspects of fungi. Brazil’s rich biodiversity means we’ll have the chance to study a wide range of fungal species. Understanding their evolutionary pathways could provide insights into how fungi adapt to different environments and what that might reveal about our own evolutionary history.”

The discussion flows effortlessly as we share our individual research focuses and how they intersect. The room is charged with enthusiasm, and each of us is clearly passionate about our specific areas of study. “How about you, Willow?” Ethan signs.

“ I’m thrilled about all the potential discoveries we’ll make ,” I sign, feeling the excitement of working on something I love so much bubbling up. “ Brazil’s ecosystems are so diverse, and the fungi here could reveal new insights into their similarities with human biology .”

As our conversation continues, we delve more into the logistics of our research, discussing fieldwork plans, potential challenges, and the incredible opportunities that await us.

I’m halfway through explaining what I predict will be potential breakthroughs we might achieve with our research when the door swings open. I glance up, my words faltering as a striking and handsome figure of a man who has been a part of all my secret dreams and fantasies steps into the conference room, flanked by a large, imposing bodyguard.

So, my mind didn’t conjure him. It’s really him…

I look at him still unable to believe he’s actually here.

He’s stunningly handsome, too handsome to be considered real. His black slacks are impeccably tailored, and his white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal well-defined tattooed forearms, adds to his dark and commanding aura. His black hair is slicked back, accentuating the intense black eyes that seem to absorb the room’s light. His beauty reminds me of those Greek statues and it’s really hard to look away.

As the man strides into the room, his presence almost commands the air to shift. He glances around with a detached, almost bored expression, clearly unimpressed by everyone in the room. His dark eyes flit over the team, and he seems ready to dismiss us altogether.

Deja vu… that’s how it feels.

I still remember that same look as he stared at the world around him when he was a young and angry boy.

I see him take a breath, looking annoyed, as if he’s seconds away from leaving the room— until his empty gaze lands on me. The moment our eyes meet, it’s as if the entire world fades into a blur. My team murmurs, the elegant and cheerful surroundings—it all dissolves into the background, leaving just the intensity of this man’s stare and the sudden, jarring realization that hits me like a wave.

It really is him. This is not a dream and I’m not just seeing things. It was him— the man I’d seen in the resort lobby. He’s not the boy I remember. He’s not even the man I saw at his last race on the TV.

He has more facial hair now than he did before but his features are unmistakable. His dark hair and equally dark eyes that hold many secrets, the arrogance and commanding—they all come together in a perfect, albeit unexpected, revelation. I’m struck by the dawning recognition that it really is the beautiful boy I knew from my childhood.

Madden Hunt.

But it’s not only his beautiful face that holds me captive, it is the flood of memories that comes rushing back.

The garden.

Fairies.

Cold winter nights.

Christmas Eve.

Bittersweet memories with him.

Madden Hunt, my once foster brother, the one who had given me countless magical moments in my childhood and my first friend aside from my cousins. The boy who was my superhero and the one who made me feel safe when the world outside seemed so very scary. But most important he saw me for me and not my disability.

I feel a rush of emotions hit me all at once—surprise, sadness, and a touch of disbelief. My heart races as I try to process the fact that someone from my past, someone who meant so much, is standing right in front of me now, in the middle of our meeting here in Brazil.

Is he the owner? I wonder still struck by his presence.

Madden’s expression shifts subtly, a flicker of something that seems like recognition flashes in his eyes. For a brief moment, the uncaring and grumpy facade slips, and a hint of something familiar crosses his face. But as soon as it appears, it fades. But he masked it too late, I saw it.

Madden…

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The room seems to dissolve further as I sit still unable to find my next breath.

My mother is a firm believer in fate and from the first moment I told her about this trip she knew something magical awaited me here.

She was right.

Now the question lingers: Was it coincidence, or was it fate that brought him back into my life?

Madden

“Good luck in there, boss,” Lincoln mutters from behind me, clearly amused. The fucker knows I hate being told what to do, and this damn meeting has been irritating me ever since I found out about it. Remi called and convinced me that meeting with the researchers from Green Planet Lab, amid all this media circus, would be good for not only my reputation but for my hotel as well.

Ignoring the nuisance, I push through the heavy doors of the conference room, the dull thud of them closing behind us echoing in the large room. As soon as I enter the first thing I see are more atrocious Christmas decorations.

Fucking great.

Large red and white ornaments on every available corner of the ceiling. Twinkling lights flashing in tune with the low sound of Christmas carols in the background.

Mistletoes.

And then there’s them.

Five of them to be exact.

Just what I need—a room full of research geeks talking about shit I have zero interest in. I barely stifle a groan as I scan the room with a look of disinterest.

The two young men catch my eye first. The first one, the man with brown hair and the boring as hell taste in clothes, has an intense look about him—he’s staring down at his notes as he scribbles furiously on the paper. The other guy’s face is lit up with a grin so wide it might split his face in half. He’s practically bouncing on his heels, and I can already tell he’s the type who’ll try to impress me with every little detail about his research. Then there are two women, young and excited, also bouncing in their seats, their eager smiles grating on my nerves. I don’t even bother to nod at them, my eyes sliding past each face with an air of detached boredom.

And then, my gaze lands on her.

Time seems to freeze. The rest of them blur into insignificance. My usually loud mind goes quiet, except for the undeniable fact that she’s here, and suddenly, nothing else seems to matter. The energy in the room shifts, and my usual bravado falters under her gaze but only for a split second.

Those eyes.

I remember those blue eyes that remind me of clear skies on a hot summer day.

The girl looks up, her blue eyes meeting mine, and there’s a flicker of shock in her expression. Her pretty red lips part slightly, but no words come out. The intensity of her gaze, which had seemed shy and reserved at first, now falters, and she quickly drops her eyes to her lap, a deep blush spreading across her cheeks. Huh… how pretty. Her hands fidget in her lap, and she shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable.

Dammit where have I seen those eyes ?

The room’s chatter fades into the background as I watch her. Her reaction is unexpected. I’m not used to shy women. Not really. I wonder if she’s a fan of mine.

I stare at her longer, taking in her appearance. She has long, rich caramel curls that cascade down her back like a river of honey, each strand catching the Christmas lights and shimmering with a depth that seems almost tangible. Her sun-kissed skin glows, a warm, radiant hue that tells me perhaps she enjoys spending time outside. Even sitting down, I can tell she’s small. A hell of a lot shorter than me. I can also catch a glimpse of her figure and what a sexy as fuck one that is. Her curves are the kind that make you catch your breath.

But what has me unable to look away from her is her face. That face of hers could rival any model I’ve seen strutting down the runway or that has spent a night in my bed. There’s something almost surreal about her, a magnetic pull that’s like when artists get lost in their own masterpieces, unable to see or think of anything else.

I study her as she looks down, her pretty eyes focusing on her papers, and I’m struck by the sight of her plump lips, which form a soft, almost pouty line. Even her mannerisms—nervous but charming—are captivating.

The fuck is happening to me? No other woman has ever captivated me. Nothing except racing.

As she shifts slightly, her face is illuminated with that golden glow of the Christmas lights and the chandelier overhead, highlighting her striking features even more—the smooth curve of her cheek, the delicate arch of her brown brows, and the pretty pink on her cheeks hinting at embarrassment.

She’s embarrassed?

I’m not used to that reaction from women. Overexcited to meet me? Yes. Flirtatious? Yes.

Embarrassed? Never.

Huh.

This girl’s reaction, the way she’s blushing and avoiding my gaze, only makes my interest for her grow. I’m unable to look away. I just want to look at her more and nothing else.

Fascinated, my eyes move from her makeup-free face down to her choice of clothing, and a rare smile tugs at the corners of my lips. How odd… Her simple outfit is so different from the bland professionalism of her colleagues. She is dressed in high-waisted light blue jeans that fit her like they were made just for her—casual yet stylish. The jeans hug her curves in a way that accentuates her figure without being overly flashy. But it’s the oversized white shirt that truly catches my eye. The shirt has a cartoonish mushroom printed on it with the words: “ Don’t be a turd, save the planet. ” It’s so absurd but endearing compared to the more serious attitudes of her colleagues that it makes me fight a smile. The shirt’s message is cheeky. I’ll give her that.

Too damn hippy for my taste but cute.

As I take in her captivating beauty, and her quirky shirt—I’m struck by how she stands out in a room full of people trying to blend in. And maybe that is what caught my attention when lately nothing ever does.

Only one person had the power to have all of me and my attention.

The shirt’s message and the cartoon mushroom evoke memories of the girl with the wild heart from my past. The damn shirt and the brown curls have unlocked a long-buried memory that keeps popping up every time I am reminded of her.

Just as I’m about to remember more about my Wild One, an overly excited voice cuts through my thoughts. It’s the dark man with the eager grin, who’s now standing up and making his way toward me. The rest of the nerds follow, approaching with the same enthusiasm that’s both annoying and tiresome as fuck.

The other one. The one with the ugly vest is first, extending a hand with a firm grip and introducing himself as Dr. Ethan Jensen. His voice is steady, boring, and professional, and I nod in acknowledgement, though my attention keeps drifting back to the girl in the oversized shirt.

Next is the too damn friendly, dark skinned guy who introduces himself as Dr. Bernie Castillo. His handshake is accompanied by a warm smile and a stream of useless information about his research’s mission, which I ignore while my gaze keeps slipping back to the girl still seated by the window.

As of now none of these nerds have gone fan crazy over me so either they’re real professional or they give zero fucks about me.

At that moment, one of the women who introduced herself as Dr. Maya Dávila comes closer, her eyes widening with recognition. She gasps, a sound so animated that it shifts the atmosphere.

“Oh, Dios mío , you’re Madden Hunt, aren’t you?” she screeches, her voice carrying a mixture of excitement and disbelief. “The two-time Formula 1 champion! I had no idea you’d be here. I mean, it’s an honor, really!” She practically bounces on her black heels as she shakes my hand. I shake her hand until her enthusiasm morphs into something more personal. She lingers a bit too long with the handshake, her fingers brushing against mine with a touch that feels intentional rather than accidental. Her gaze holds mine a moment longer than necessary, and her smile turns flirty. “I’m a huge fan and so is my Dad! Oh, my. I had no idea you are the owner of the hotel,” she says, her tone now laced with a flirty undertone.

I offer a polite nod, and I don’t hide the subtle irritation that flares up.

Bored with her pointless attempt to flirt, I acknowledge the other woman before my eyes find Mushroom Girl, who is still seated quietly, her face angled away as though she’s trying to become invisible. Her earlier reaction—the shock and refreshing shyness—lingers in my mind, making her an even more intriguing enigma.

Forgetting everyone else in the room, I take a step closer to her, my gaze softening as I do. “And you are?” I ask gently, trying to not spook her. She seems like the type to be easily spooked.

Mushroom girl looks up from her notebook slowly, her doe eyes meeting mine looking surprised and shy. The blush on her cheeks deepens, but there’s also a flicker of curiosity in her gaze that suggests she’s more than just nervous. She hesitates, as if struggling to find her words, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her green notebook. After a long moment, slowly and hesitantly, she stands up. The movement is deliberate, like she’s trying to gather her courage. My gaze lingers on her, and I find myself captivated by the transformation. At this moment she reminds me of a caterpillar transforming into a colorful butterfly.

My breath gets caught in my throat as her beauty hits me all at once. If sitting down she was lovely, standing, she’s even more striking. Compared to everyone in the room she’s the shortest. Her petite size emphasizes her delicate and ethereal presence. And there’s something about the way she stands—slightly poised, with a subtle grace that makes her appear almost otherworldly. Fuck. She reminds me of a fairy from a fantasy book, pretty, delicate and enchanting, with a presence that feels both fragile and captivating.

Mushroom Girl looks up at me with wide, curious eyes, blush still staining her cheeks. Despite the nervousness and her shyness, there’s an undeniable warmth in her gaze that draws me in. The way she avoids eye contact and fidgets with her shirt makes her seem even more like a fairy caught lost in a world that’s not her own.

As her beautiful eyes hold me hostage, everything else fades away. It’s just her and me, and the strange sense of familiarity I can’t quite place. Where have I seen this girl before?

“Uh…she doesn’t speak,” one of the men says. I think it is ugly vest, but I ignore him and keep my eyes trained on the sweet creature who is looking at me as if she knew me.

There’s shock reflected back at me but also a fuck of a lot of warmth.

Why?

“Willow,” she lifts her right hand, signs and then extends her hand for me to shake. Her eyes pin me in place. They’re blue, with a hint of green—my favorite color. When I take her delicate hand in mine, it feels like she’s making the organ in my chest come alive, one weak heartbeat at a time with just her touch. “Willow O’Sullivan.” she signs again with her free hand.

Then it hits me.

Willow…

In that moment, every dark corner of my soul turns a little bit blue— a blue that reminds me of warmth and of the girl who once painted my dark world with color and magic.

The only true friend I’ve ever known.

Thud.

Thud.

I glance down at our joined hands, my mind racing to catch up with the sudden revival of my heartbeat. It’s a strange sensation. Of course, my heart worked properly. The fucker has kept me alive all these years but it never got excited about anyone or anything. Now, though it feels like a drumbeat echoing through my chest, and I can almost feel the sparks crackling inside me. I keep looking down at our hands, trying to make sense of this strange sensation in not only my chest but my skin as well. The warmth of her touch sent a jolt through my entire body, and I can’t quite grasp what’s wrong with me. My pulse quickens, and the world around us seems to shimmer more than the ugly Christmas decorations all around us.

Wild hair.

Wild heart.

Wild One.

Holding her small hand in mine, I sense that something shifts inside of me, and deep down I know it won’t ever be the same again because of her— because she’s here.

My very own fairy.