Page 6

Dahlia

I set the last spoon in the drying rack and exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

The kitchen was clean. Or, at least, as clean as I could manage considering the utter madness that had unfolded in it just hours ago. My mug still sat on the counter, half-full of cold tea. I picked it up, sipped it out of habit, and grimaced. Ugh. Cold herbal betrayal.

I poured it out and leaned against the sink, rubbing the back of my neck.

What the hell had I just done?

There was a man —an actual man —asleep in the guest bed.

A man who had, less than six hours ago, materialized out of a cursed locket in my kitchen in a puff of magic, rage, and unwashed medieval drama.

I was about to taze him. But instead, I told him he could stay with me.

I told him to shower and use my bath products.

And I made him grilled cheese and tomato soup.

I might be losing it.

I ran a hand over my face. “You’re either the most compassionate woman alive, or a complete idiot,” I muttered.

Because, really, what if he was dangerous?

I can’t deny the instant attraction I felt towards him.

Sure, he was grumpy and dramatic and didn’t know how a faucet worked—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be some ancient evil.

Just because he looked like a disheveled fantasy lumberjack didn’t mean he was harmless.

And I’d let him into my house .

Into my guest bed .

And why did he keep calling me Flower? Can he not remember my name? Just the general meaning of it?

“Great job, Dahlia,” I muttered. “This is how people end up on the news.”

I grabbed a dish towel and half-heartedly wiped down the already-clean counters. My thoughts spiraled.

Thea was going to lose her shit when I told her. She’d flip her lid and probably try to hit him with a broom. Or her car. Or both. She’d definitely accuse me of being enchanted. She might not be wrong.

I sighed and looked around the kitchen. I should be freaking out more. A man came out of jewelry and accused me of poisoning him with soup, and now he was sleeping down the hall, and somehow my main concern was that I was out of milk.

Because, yeah, if he’s sticking around for more than a day—and at this rate, it seemed like he might—I was going to need groceries. And maybe a sedative.

The fridge made a faint humming sound. I opened it, stared blankly at its sad contents—half a cucumber, some mustard, one lonely egg—and closed it again with a soft thud.

“Grocery run tomorrow,” I said to no one. “And maybe sage. A lot of sage.”

I wiped my hands on a dish towel and looked around the room one last time. Everything felt normal again. Almost.

Except it wasn’t. Because there was a man in my house who didn’t know what indoor plumbing was, and somehow I wasn’t terrified.

Just… curious.

And exhausted.

I flicked off the kitchen light, leaving the space in quiet darkness, and padded down the hallway toward bed.

Tomorrow was going to be something .

The hallway creaked softly under my feet as I padded toward the guest room, the soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen fading behind me. The house felt still, finally. The chaos of the day—of everything —had settled into a strange, surreal calm.

I paused outside the guest room door, hand hovering near the knob.

I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to check on him. Maybe to make sure he hadn’t disappeared like some weird fever dream. Or maybe just to reassure myself that I hadn’t let a complete lunatic take over my guest bed.

Quietly, I turned the handle and pushed the door open just a crack.

The bedside lamp I’d left on earlier still glowed softly, casting golden shadows across the room.

Kieran was sprawled on his back on top of the quilt, his broad chest rising and falling with the rhythm of deep sleep.

His hair, still damp from the shower, curled against the curve of his shoulder.

He looked… softer like this. Less growly, less haunted. Human.

I lingered at the doorway, rubbing the chain of the locket between my fingers. A faint warmth pulsed through it every time I touched him. Not heat—something deeper. Familiar, in a way I couldn’t explain.

Aunt Miriam used to tell me that certain kinds of magic only wake when they’re needed. That some bloodlines carry things like secrets in the marrow.

I always thought she was just being poetic. But now, watching this strange man sleep in my guest bed—this man pulled from silver and shadow—I wasn’t so sure.

But what made me pause was the sight of Sunny —my opinionated, picky cat—curled up right against Kieran’s chest.

The little traitor was purring.

I blinked.

Sunny didn’t warm up to anyone that fast. Hell, he barely tolerated Thea. And yet here he was, pressed into the crook of a stranger’s arm like he belonged there, his tail flicking lazily with each contented breath.

Kieran stirred slightly, one hand twitching in his sleep. His fingers curled around Sunny’s fur, and the cat nuzzled closer, letting out a pleased rumble.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, heart doing something stupid in my chest.

Well. If Sunny trusted him...

I studied the peaceful expression on Kieran’s face, the way the furrow between his brows had finally smoothed out. He looked so different like this— younger , almost. Or maybe just unburdened .

For the first time since he’d erupted into my life like a storm cloud, I saw something gentle under all that gruffness.

Maybe I wasn’t completely crazy.

Or maybe I was. But at least I wasn’t the only one.

I stepped back, slowly pulling the door almost shut behind me, leaving just a crack. “Goodnight, you weird, possibly-cursed lunatic,” I whispered.

The cat purred louder in response.