Page 99 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
Gus moved to take the letter from Flint's hands, his expression thoughtful. "Are you sure? Sometimes closure comes from understanding what people are thinking, even if you don't agree with it."
The suggestion was made with genuine care, offered without pressure or expectation. But Marigold found herself shaking her head before he'd even finished speaking.
"I have all the closure I need," she said firmly. "Magnolia made her choice when she betrayed me. Rowan made his when he humiliated me publicly. I don't need their explanations or justifications to move forward with my life."
The conviction in her own voice surprised her. Months ago, she would have agonized over the letter, would have read it multiple times looking for hidden meanings and signs of genuine remorse. But the woman she was becoming had no patience for that kind of emotional masochism.
"That's probably the healthiest response," Meadow observed, his tone carrying approval that warmed her more than she'd expected. "Some people think forgiveness requires engagement, but sometimes the most generous thing you can do for yourself is to simply move on."
"Rowan never was good at being told no," she said, surprising herself with how easily the words came. "Even when we were together, if something didn't go his way, he'd find ways to make it everyone else's problem. He couldn't accept that I might actually be happier without him."
The admission felt like releasing pressure from a valve she hadn't realized was stuck. How long had she been carrying the weight of his expectations, the fear that he might be right about her choices?
"What did he mean about remembering?" Flint asked, his expression troubled. "That sounded like a threat."
Marigold considered the question, thinking about Rowan's parting words and the subtle menace beneath his polished exterior. "He's the type who keeps track of perceived slights," she said finally. "He'll remember that I rejected him today, that you all made it clear he wasn't welcome. But honestly? I don'tcare anymore. Let him remember. Let him plot. I'm not the same person who was afraid of disappointing him."
The truth of that statement settled into her bones like a revelation. She wasn't the same person—not the woman who'd shaped her life around others' expectations, who'd accepted crumbs of affection and called it love, who'd believed that her worth was determined by external validation.
"He also said some pretty nasty things about Cypress," Gus pointed out gently. "That felt personal."
"Rowan doesn't like anyone he perceives as competition," she explained, feeling oddly protective of her former college boyfriend despite their complicated history. "And he especially doesn't like Omega males. He's the type who thinks there are proper roles for everyone, and people who don't fit his categories threaten his worldview."
The explanation felt inadequate for the viciousness of Rowan's attack, but she suspected there were deeper currents involved that she didn't fully understand. The history between the men of Willowbend was more complex than she'd realized, layers of connection and conflict that predated her arrival.
"Well," Meadow said finally, "he's gone now. And if he's smart, he'll stay gone."
There was something in his tone—a quiet promise of consequence—that made her believe Rowan would indeed think twice before returning uninvited. Whatever else might be said about the men who'd welcomed her here, they weren't people to be underestimated or dismissed.
"Thank you," she said, looking around at the three faces that had become so dear to her. "For standing with me. For making it clear he wasn't welcome. I don't think I could have handled that alone."
"You were handling it just fine," Flint assured her. "We were just backup singers in your show."
The gentle humor in his voice, the way he acknowledged her strength while also celebrating their support, made her chest tight with emotion. This was what community looked like—not the competitive hierarchy of her former world, but genuine partnership in facing life's challenges.
"Still," she insisted, "it meant everything to have you there. To know I wasn't facing him alone."
The admission hung in the air between them, weighted with significance that went beyond the immediate crisis. She was acknowledging something larger than just their support today—she was claiming them as her people, her chosen family, her pack in all the ways that mattered.
"You'll never face anything alone again," Meadow said quietly, his words carrying the weight of a vow. "Not if we have anything to say about it."
19
THE BAKE-OFF & BURNED EDGES
~MARIGOLD~
The morning of the Harvest Pie-Off dawned crisp and clear, with the kind of golden autumn light that made everything look like it belonged on a postcard.
Marigold stood in front of her bedroom mirror, adjusting the cheerful yellow sundress she'd chosen for the occasion—something bright and cheerful that matched her unexpectedly buoyant mood despite yesterday's confrontation with Rowan.
The dress was simple but flattering, with cap sleeves and a full skirt that swirled around her knees when she moved, perfect for a day of baking and community celebration.
"Ready for this?" Gus had asked when he picked her up, his pink hair particularly vibrant in the morning sunlight as he leaned against his truck, grinning with the kind of infectious enthusiasm that made it impossible not to smile back.
"As ready as someone can be for their first small-town baking competition," she'd replied, adjusting the basket of supplies they'd assembled for their entry. "Though I still can't believe you talked me into this."
"You're going to love it," he'd assured her, his confidence unwavering as he helped her into the passenger seat. "TheHarvest Pie-Off is one of Willowbend's finest traditions. Plus, I have it on good authority that we make an excellent team."
