Page 12

Chapter Twelve

C lover sighed in relief as she finally found the address of her last delivery. It was already dusk, and she should have been done for the day.

Her parents had been pleased to get an order from the north side of town. They primarily served the south side, which she knew without the help of GPS. But the winter faction didn’t do flowers, and there was a flower shop on the north side for the ordinaries.

Dad thought that this order was a sign they had a leg up on their competition. Maybe the preservation spells they cast on all their flowers to make them last longer were making a difference.

Just this last delivery, and then I’m free for the night . She cheered the end of her work day as she turned off the van and zipped up her thick, down coat.

Her muscles tensed when she opened the door and set her rubber boots onto the still-wet street, hunching her shoulders against the cold. She knew the snow wouldn’t last long. It was still early for snow that stayed, and it had already melted from everywhere but the grass. She gritted her teeth, promising herself a hot cup of tea and a game of pirates with Crane and Llew.

She pulled out the bouquet of yellow camellias—smiling down at the flowers. Someone will be happy to get these . She wondered if they knew the blooms represented destiny and longing.

As she tucked her clipboard under her arm to close the van doors, she glanced at the side of the two-story building at the very end of a row of connected storefronts. The sign above the door declared the shop Crawford Antiques.

Adopting her usual, friendly smile, she entered the glass door—a bell chiming cheerfully overhead.

For an antique shop, the space was neat and well-organized. Every inch of the walls not taken up by a shelf was covered by paintings or mirrors. There were antique furniture and lamps, dishes and silverware, and more salt and pepper shakers than she thought existed in the world.

Her smile faltered, and she tilted her head. Something about the space seemed familiar, like a song playing in another room. She heard the notes distantly but couldn’t hear the melody clearly enough to name it.

There was magic in this place. Not an active spell recently cast, more a buildup of remnant energy.

She could feel it. It tickled her stomach and made her want to reach out with her aura to identify it.

Glancing around the space, her gaze fell on the clerk who stood behind a glass display case filled with jewelry. He clutched what looked like an old tarot deck in his hand, but his dark brown eyes were fixed on her.

He was not what Clover expected from an antique shop. He looked more like a carpenter—about six feet tall with broad shoulders and toned arms. He had a square face with a strong jaw, and his dark brown hair was styled in a medium quiff. Her wore jeans and a plaid button-down.

Something about his gaze felt familiar although she was sure she’d never been in his shop before.

She glanced down at her clipboard. “Are you Whittaker Crawford?”

His eyes seemed to warm as she spoke his name. “I am,” he said smoothly.

His voice… Something about it…except more hushed and intimate.

Clover stared at him uncertainly for a moment.

“These are for you.” Clover stepped closer slowly and placed the flowers on the glass case.

The clerk didn’t take his eyes off her face, nor did he move to pick up the bouquet.

Tentatively, she reached out with a little tendril of magic, extending her aura toward his. Even in the dead of winter, she was able to do magic like this. This was basic survival stuff. She wasn’t manifesting anything into being or plucking the strings of fate in her favor. She was simply pushing her awareness outward, tasting the air around him.

As her magic reached him, a familiar sensation flooded into her—a warm fire on a snowy night, winter berries, warm spices, and mountain evergreens. She blinked in surprise. “It’s you ! You’re my helpful elf?”

He smiled back at her. “Hello again.”

If she wasn’t so surprised, she might have felt like a right idiot. She’d even suggested to Ari that she’d kissed a real fae the night before. As it was, she was nearly as surprised to learn she’d actually kissed a winter sorcerer.

When she let out a disbelieving laugh, the winter sorcerer blinked. “No wonder you didn’t want to give your name. That’s quite the joke you pulled, crashing our party and blowing out our fire. You’re lucky I’m the one who caught you and not someone else.”

Clover placed her clipboard and pen on the glass case between them and pointed to where he was supposed to sign.

He frowned. “Actually, that was my friend who blew out the fire. He shouldn’t have done that. And you didn’t catch me… I ordered the flowers from you on purpose.”

She snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that? Got a little taste of summer witch and couldn’t forget?”

But her smirk faltered as he watched her seriously.

“Will you marry me?”