Page 42 of Magic in My Bones

“You too,” I whispered back, feeling a bit dazed.

With a final smile, Dorian turned and headed back down the hall. He paused at the corner, turning back to look at me one last time. The way his eyes traveled over me, slow and heated, made my skin tingle even from this distance. Our magic was stillreaching for each other, creating gossamer threads of silver light between us that stretched and thinned but didn't break.

Only when he finally disappeared from view did the threads dissolve, leaving behind a lingering warmth that felt like a promise. My lips still tingled from his kiss, and my body hummed with an awareness I'd never felt before. Even the mark on my forehead felt warmer somehow, more like a caress than a brand.

A date. A real date. I could hardly believe it. My heart fluttered at the thought, and I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady the erratic beat. It felt like everything had shifted in the span of a single, soft kiss and a promise of something more. Something simple, something just for us.

I turned back to my door, the soft click of the latch echoing in the quiet hall. With a sigh, I leaned against the doorframe, a small, contented smile tugging at my lips.

Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough.

16

A Quiet Evening

Dorian

“Where on earth didI put the rosemary?” I muttered, scanning the countertop cluttered with vegetables and herbs.

Gran's recipes were spread across the kitchen counter, her spidery handwriting accompanied by tiny protection runes in the margins. She always insisted good cooking was its own kind of magic. The spirit lights in their mismatched mason jars cast a warm, welcoming glow. The scent of garlic and a rich vegetable broth filled the cottage. Even the cooking implements had stories, each pot and pan collected from different centuries, seasoned with memories and magic.

I searched through the components of tonight’s dinner, flitting back and forth through the kitchen, while Bones padded along beside me, nose in the air as if he were searching too.

Bones paused, his hollow eye sockets fixed on the spice shelf, and let out a dry, papery bark.

“Ah! There it is,” I said, spotting the rosemary tucked behind a jar of dried mushrooms. “Thank you, Bones. What would I do without you?”

He wagged his bony tail, vertebrae clicking with each little rattle, while I brushed some flour off my hands and tried to stay focused. I wanted tonight’s dinner to be special, but simple, something that wouldn’t be ruined by my nerves. Taking a steadying breath, I caught the scent of roasted vegetables from the oven, earthy and comforting.

“Just breathe, Crowe. It’s a dinner, not a ritual,” I told myself, though the warmth creeping up my neck betrayed just how eager I was.

I was stirring the risotto when I glanced at the clock and nearly dropped the spoon. “Bones, tell me that doesn’t say it’s nearly six already!” I whispered, my heart leaping into my throat. Somehow, I’d managed to lose track of time entirely, and the pears for dessert were still unpeeled, the salad barely touched.

Taking a quick, unsteady breath, I added a splash of broth to the risotto, giving it a frantic stir. “Just a little longer,” I muttered, hoping it would finish cooking itself if I looked away.

Bones cocked his head at me, tail rattling as though amused by my disheveled state.

“Oh, laugh all you want, but it’s important this goes well!”

I turned back to the countertop, grabbing a handful of thyme for the roasted vegetable tart, mentally checking off every little step I still needed to finish. The tart was at least out of the oven, its golden crust fragrant with caramelized onions and roasted roots, but the rest… I was running out of time to make it perfect.

Just as I reached for the pears, I heard a soft knock on the door. My heart stuttered. Ren. Already? I glanced at the clock again, cursing myself for underestimating how quickly an evening could slip away.

Bones trotted to the door, his bony paws tapping lightly on the floor. I wiped my hands on a towel, glancing around the kitchen one last time, as if I could magically make the rest of the meal finish itself. If only I were a kitchen witch. I took a deep breath,trying to keep my excitement and nerves in check, and then I walked to the door.

Opening it, I was greeted by Ren’s wide smile, his cheeks flushed pink from the chill outside. As soon as he saw me, his smile fell slightly. “Sorry. Am I early?”

“Just a bit,” I said, laughing as I stepped aside to let him in. “You caught me in the middle of, well, everything.”

Ren stepped through the door, and I felt my heart lurch. He wore a simple, fitted black sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Dark jeans hugged his frame, worn but well-kept, and a forest-green scarf was draped loosely around his neck, the color bringing out the warm tones in his eyes. Everything he wore was understated, but he wore it well.

Our magic reached for each other before we did. The connection made my skin tingle, awakening every nerve ending with an awareness that was both thrilling and maddening.

There was a nervous energy about him as he stepped inside, one hand reaching up to adjust the scarf, his eyes darting around the room before meeting mine. For a moment, I forgot I was still holding a spoon, risotto slowly congealing in the pot behind me, because all I could focus on was how his shy smile lit up his face.

“You look… amazing,” I managed, realizing the words came out a bit too soft, a bit too awed.

He gave a small chuckle, cheeks turning pink as he looked down, scuffing one foot. “Thanks. Although this is Luca’s scarf. He insisted.”

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