Page 26 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
"Those are beautiful," I say, nodding toward the small bouquet of rirzed blossoms and silver leaves. "Rhea has your eye for balance."
"She gets it from helping in the shop." Brynn's response is polite but distant, the kind of meaningless small talk you make with strangers. "Arrangement and display are part of the business."
Look at me,I want to say.Stop pretending I'm someone you barely know.
Instead, I try a different approach. "Nya's been asking if she can help you with inventory again. She loves organizing your supply room."
That gets me a real smile, small but genuine. "She's welcome anytime. Rhea enjoys having the help."
Progress. Not much, but something. I push a little further. "She's been drawing more, too. Nothing elaborate, just... things she sees. Flowers, snow, the way light looks through your shop windows."
Brynn's hands still on the flower stems. "That's wonderful. Rhea loves when they draw together."
"I thought maybe... if you have time... you could look at some of her work? I know you appreciate good art, and she values your opinion."
It's a shameless manipulation, using my daughter's artistic development to create an excuse for Brynn to spend time with me. But I'm running out of subtle options, and I refuse to let her slip away without a fight.
"Of course." Brynn's response is immediate, maternal instinct overriding whatever walls she's trying to maintain. "I'd be honored to see anything Nya wants to share."
"Thank you." I let genuine gratitude color the words, let her see how much this matters. Not just the art, but the fact that she's willing to care for my daughter despite whatever fears are keeping her from caring for me. "It means everything to her. To both of us."
Something flickers in her eyes—awareness, maybe, or recognition of the deeper current beneath my words. But before she can respond, Rhea appears at her elbow with Nya in tow, both girls chattering about the afternoon's plans.
"Can Nya come home with us for dinner?" Rhea asks, bouncing slightly on her toes. "We want to practice the songs Veyra taught us."
I look to Brynn, letting the question hang between us. This is her choice—she can maintain her careful distance, keep our interactions limited to these public spaces where other people provide buffers and distractions. Or she can let me into herhome again, back into the warm intimacy of shared meals and quiet conversations while our daughters play.
"Please?" Nya adds her voice to Rhea's request, looking between us with hopeful eyes.
Brynn hesitates, and I can see the war playing out across her features. Fear warring with affection, caution battling against the simple desire to make our children happy. Finally, maternal love wins.
"Of course," she says, but she's looking at the girls when she says it, not at me. "But early to bed tonight. Tomorrow will be a long day."
Relief floods through me, warm and sweet as rirzed wine. It's not forgiveness, not trust, but it's not complete rejection either. It's a chance—another opportunity to prove that I'm not the man who hurt her, not someone who takes what he wants and disappears into the night.
As we pack up the flower arrangements and prepare to head home, I catch Brynn watching me again—quick glances when she thinks I'm not looking, her gaze lingering on my hands, my face, the way I interact with our daughters. There's longing in those stolen looks, carefully hidden but unmistakable once you know what to search for.
She wants this too. Wants me, wants the possibility of something real and lasting between us. But she's trapped by ghosts I can't see, haunted by promises that were broken before I ever walked into her shop.
I think of Syrelle, of the way addiction and ambition poisoned everything she touched, of the nights I spent watching over Nya while her mother disappeared into her own selfish pursuits. I know what it feels like to want someone who doesn't even care about you, to build your world around someone who sees you as temporary, disposable. And I think I only wantedSyrelle because I didn't like the idea of Nya feeling neglected by her mother. I wanted her home for our daughter, not for me.
But I also know what it feels like to choose differently. To put someone else's needs before your own wants, to stay when leaving would be easier, to love without expecting anything in return.
Brynn doesn't know that yet. But I'll show her, day by day, choice by choice, until she believes it in her bones.
I'm not going anywhere. And eventually, she'll see that too.
15
BRYNN
Three days. It's been three days since I kissed Ciaran in the village center like some lovesick fool, and I still can't stop thinking about it. The memory burns through me at the most inconvenient moments—when I'm measuring ink for a customer, when I'm braiding Rhea's hair, when I catch sight of his tall frame through my shop windows as he moves through the square with that easy, confident grace that makes my stomach flutter like I'm sixteen again.
Stop it,I tell myself for the hundredth time this morning, forcing my attention back to the ledger spread across my counter.You know better than this.
But my traitorous mind keeps circling back to the way his mouth felt against mine, warm and sure and tasting of rirzed wine. The way his hands had framed my face like I was something precious, something worth savoring. The low sound he made when I kissed him back, like I'd answered a question he'd been asking without words.
Right before I panicked and pulled away like he'd scalded me.
