Page 60 of Homegrown Magic

Margot

Yael’s words burn into Margot, a wildfire setting everything in its path alight. It’s the truth, laid out plainly and painfully clear. It’s so simple, it takes her breath away.

But it’s not enough. If Yael goes back to the cottage with her, that means she’s out of time, out of chances, and everyone in Bloomfield will be evicted. The cottage and greenhouses taken. All that Fern, Margot, and the people in the village have built and grown will be gone.

Margot wants to weep, but instead, she closes her eyes against all the wanting, the knowing, the lies she’s told, and the truths she knows. For just a moment, she pushes it all down and lets herself look at Yael.

A warm breeze rustles the flowering vines on the trellis behind her, perfuming the air with the soft scent of jasmine. The hum of voices and the music from the string quintet on the terrace below their balcony floats upward, but in front of her it’s only Yael, outlined in the hyacinth twilight, magnificent in their suit and ram’s horn mask. A half smile quirks their gold-painted lips as their hair ruffles in the night air.

They are so lovely, so bold, so different than she ever expected them to be. Margot aches to tell them this and so much more.

“Yael,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat. “I…” She swallows hard as desire wars with despair.

She wants Yael. That’s it. That’s all. But how can they ever be together? Life in Ashaway would be a misery for Yael—and likely for herself as well. Yet if they leave the city, they doom the village; there will be no second extension from the Claunecks, no further grace as she struggles to figure out the impossible Natural Caster Potion she isn’t close to finishing, despite all her promises, in the next few months. Margot doubts that Menorath and Baremon will even wait out the summer remaining on their deal if she disappoints them. But if she convinces Yael to stay, they doom themselves to a future under the thumb of the Claunecks all the same. She cannot ask that of Yael, and she cannot trick them into it. Not when she…

But that’s too much to consider at this moment as the twilight shimmers off the golden paint on Yael’s slightly parted lips.

Gods help her, she wants Yael Clauneck right here on this balcony.

Forcing herself to take a slow breath, Margot runs a hand over the Claunecks’ letter she’s carried with her for three or so years, currently tucked inside a hidden pocket in her skirt to keep it safe and to keep herself from forgetting why she came here. Across from her, Yael leans against the balustrade, clearly aiming for casual, but tension is written in the line of their shoulders. In how they cross and uncross their feet at the ankle. In the way their gaze darts away from Margot’s as she tries to meet it.

She exhales sharply. “Yael, I want…”

To say yes to you, and to have a life together.

But admitting that means destroying the lives of so many people she cares about.

The better part of me would be happier in a cottage in the woods with you for as long as you’ll have me there.

It can never happen, but in this one moment, she will let herself pretend they can have a happily ever after together. After all, how much time can they have left? She should make every minute count.

Margot lifts a hand to Yael’s face, reaching up to tenderly cup their jaw beneath the mask. She tries again. “I…” She hesitates, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

But she allows the silence to stretch a beat too long. Yael turns away, their shoulders slumping. They shrug and slip their hands into their pockets. “Don’t answer now, Daisy. Please. Truly. It’s just that I wanted you to know—”

“Yael?” She grips their elbow, turning them back toward her.

“Yes?” The word is so tentative, so hopeful. It breaks Margot’s heart as it hangs in the air between them. She takes Yael’s hand and bends so her lips are right beside Yael’s golden ones.

“I would have you there,” she says, putting all her hopes into the words, even if they are foolish. Even if it cannot happen, Yael should at least know her heart. “In my cottage, always. But—”

“Daisy,” Yael interrupts. Their eyes are dark pools within the ram’s head mask.

“Yes?”

“Have I told you how very lovely you look in this dress?” Yael’s hands lightly grip her waist, pressing her against their body, tracing the lines of her bodice as they kiss her again.

A whip of desire, hot, hungry, and demanding, licks through Margot’s bloodstream. Letting her fingers trail along Yael’s shoulders, she releases her worries, her impending heartbreak, the crushing weight of her responsibilities, and allows herself to sink fully into the moment. “Tell me again…”

“You—” A golden kiss lands on Margot’s collarbone. “Are—” Another kiss at the hollow of her throat. “Magnificent—” Another kiss where her jaw meets her neck. “In—” One more kiss on the edge of her mouth. “This—”

Before Yael can kiss her again, one of their horns knocks against Margot’s cheekbone. A small, surprised exclamation slips past her lips.

“Oh gods.” Yael pulls away. “This damn mask. I’m sorry.” They fumble for the ribbons holding it together behind their head.

“Wait. You didn’t do any damage.”

“I’m grateful I didn’t spear your eye out or something.”