Page 39 of Homegrown Magic

“Perhaps you’re right about this particular Clauneck,” Sage says to Margot before she goes. “They are rather glamorous, and I love seeing you happy.”

“I’m not that happy.”

“You’re glowing, friend. Especially when Yael’s around.”

Margot glances toward Yael, who stands a few feet away talking with Araphi and Rastanaya. Her cheeks heat as Yael’s eyes find hers for a moment.

“Maybe I’m a little happy,” she concedes.

“Just be careful,” Sage says.

“I will, I promise.”

But the truth is, as Margot’s eyes linger on Yael, she’s feeling anything but careful.

She snags their hand a few minutes later as they walk toward a waiter with a tray of drinks. “Save me,” Margot mouths, nodding toward the pair of women who’ve held her hostage with their compliments on the garden and questions about her parents—all of which she’s deflected with a quick, “They’re traveling, of course, it’s so lovely this time of year!”

Yael grins. “Gladly.”

With apologies, they slip away from the oak-lined garden path. They skirt the party on the terrace hand in hand, then stumble into the shadows at the back of the garden now that night has truly fallen. Yael laughs as they leap over a miniature rhododendron shrub together, and the sound makes Margot’s heart race.

She wants to kiss Yael so badly she can barely think.

Yael Clauneck, whom she’s wanted to kiss since she was old enough to know what it meant to want to kiss someone. Yael Clauneck, whom she should really hate, but whom she likes entirely too much.

Yael Clauneck, who looked at her with wonder long before this triumph of a show.

Margot takes a ragged breath, pausing.

“Daisy,” Yael says, stopping beside a towering hedge. “What is it?”

Yael Clauneck, who’s friend enough to call her Daisy but also someone she’s ready to break all her rules for.

Margot pulls them onto a stone garden bench, hidden away from prying eyes. She leans toward them, strands of her hair that have come loose brushing their cheek. And then, suddenly, they’re not just holding hands. They’re crashing together. Yael’s hands find Margot’s waist, and heat floods her belly. She cups their jaw, leaning in. Their lips are so very close, and Margot asks, her voice barely a whisper, “Can I please, please kiss you?”

“Gods, yes,” Yael rasps out.

Margot’s lips find Yael’s, and as the noise from the party grows louder beyond their hiding place, she kisses Yael until they’re both breathless.

15

Yael

“Shall we go to the cottage?” Yael murmurs into Margot’s hair what feels like hours later, their lips brushing the soft skin behind her ear.

She drops her head back with a quiet groan, protesting, “There will be socialites roaming the grounds for hours yet. I wouldn’t put it past them to come bursting into the cottage, assuming it’s an outhouse. Rich people are like that.”

Yael doesn’t take offense, as technically, they are no longer rich. Besides, she isn’t wrong. “My room at the tavern, then?” They slide even closer on the bench to trail kisses up the exposed arc of her throat.

“Everyone in Bloomfield will be piled into Clementine’s after today’s tourist windfall.”

Her voice barely wavers…but it’s enough that Yael grins against the slope of her jaw. “Then name a place. Because, Daisy?”

She shivers. “Yes?”

“I’m about to peel this exquisite dress right off you and have you in the flowers and the dirt. Truly, I will ruin your gown without regret, and I don’t care who sees us.”

“The greenhouses,” Margot gasps out. “There’s…there’s a bottle of Granny Fern’s home-brewed mead beneath the shop counter. I’ve been saving it for something to celebrate. We could, um, have a toast. To the show. To us.”