The late morning sun spilled across the kitchen, catching on glass jars and the pale edges of delicate shell-pink macarons stacked on a serving plate. Tea steamed gently in mismatched cups—Lyra had given up trying to match anything once Lexi started comparing them to Majiri courting tokens and rating them by "vibe."

Saraya sat primly, her legs crossed at the ankle, a notebook open in front of her. Lexi leaned sideways in her chair, sipping tea like it was a cocktail, eyes sparkling with mischief and the clear promise of trouble.

“I’m just saying,” Lexi declared, waving her macaron like a wand, “we could absolutely have a flow-powered glitter cannon. You know—subtle, tasteful, full-on magical sparkle explosion right when you kiss.”

Saraya didn’t even look up. “No.”

“Aww, come on.”

“You’d blind the officiant. And probably the birds. And me. Definitely me.”

At the sink, Hassian quietly rewashed the same teacup for the third time, his eyes focused very intently on a spot that hadn’t existed since rinse one. He shot Lyra one of those looks.

Lyra glanced his way and smiled into her cup. Yes, he was listening.

Lexi caught it and narrowed her eyes playfully. “Are you two magically communicating again?”

“No,” Lyra said sweetly.

“Absolutely not,” Hassian deadpanned.

Saraya muttered, “They’ve probably got a full language by now. One tap for yes, two for back off my woman.”

“Three,” Lyra said without looking up, just a little smug.

At that, Hassian’s hand stilled on the dish. He didn’t turn—but she saw the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth. Three taps, indeed.

“Anyway,” Lyra said, gathering her composure like she hadn’t just mentally flirted her fiancé into a slow simmer, “I wanted to tell you both—we’ve decided on the ceremony location.”

“Oh? Jina’s lab?” Lexi guessed with a grin. “You could get married under a rotating display of historical fire hazards.”

“The Grove,” Lyra said softly.

The table went still.

Saraya blinked, surprise flickering in her usually composed features. “You mean his Grove?”

Lexi’s mouth dropped open dramatically. “Wait. The Grove? As in ancient, secret, no-one-allowed, mossy-magical-boyfriend Grove?”

“Yes,” Lyra said, smiling. “That one.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then—

“I hate how perfect that is,” Lexi muttered, biting into another macaron. “It’s so romantic it actually hurts me.”

“It makes sense,” Saraya said slowly. “It’s the most private, meaningful place he has. And you… you belong there.”

From the sink, Hassian nodded his agreement.

Lexi opened her mouth to make a joke—something about magical sap and love declarations—but then caught the look Lyra gave Hassian. The air had gone warm and soft in a way that had nothing to do with the heat advisory outside. “It just made sense to me,” Lyra said. “It’s where we fell in love.”

“You were in love before you ever set foot in there,” Saraya added plainly.

Hassian finally turned, drying his hands on a towel. He crossed the room in three quiet steps, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “I was in love before she ever set foot in there,” he said, swiping the last macaron.

Lexi pretended to sob into her sleeve. “Ugh. You’re both disgusting and I love it. Now someone get me another cookie so I can cope.”

Rustic Dreams

Saraya flipped another page in her notebook, her earlier skepticism replaced with a rare glow of inspiration. “You know… this Grove idea actually sparked something. What if we lean into it? Rustic elegance. Not fake-rustic—I mean real Bahari-grown wood. Handmade tables. Twilight orange and briar daisy pinks for the color palette.”

“Briar daisies?” Lexi raised a brow. “You sure you want to risk a wedding day sneeze-pocalypse?”

Saraya gave her a look. “No actual pollen. I said inspired by. We’ll use colored cloth and carved centerpieces. No petals, no allergies. I’m trying to live through this event.”

“That works,” Lyra said warmly.

“Besides,” Saraya went on, tapping her pen with dangerous intent, “I’ve seen Hassian, Rex, and Simon move furniture. No way we’re not exploiting that. They can build the tables. Real wood. Slightly uneven. Wholesome imperfections.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lyra murmured, watching the light dance across her teacup. “It fits the Grove. And us. Is that good with you?” she called to Hassian.

Hassian, now wiping down an already-clean counter, replied, “Whatever makes you happy, baby.” He added a wink. “Except glitter cannons.”

Lexi grunted and tilted her chair back, crossing one leg over the other. “Alright, so rustic-chic forest dream. I’ll get my hands on some lanterns. And maybe some fireworks. Just a touch.”

Saraya sighed. “No fireworks.”

“No fun.”

“No lawsuits.”

They shared a grin.

“I need to see the place,” Saraya said. “You can’t exactly plan with a mystery venue.”

“Fair enough,” Hassian answered. “We’ll get you in there the next day we’re all free.”

“Great. First thing on the agenda… choosing the spot for the wedding arch.”

“I’ve already got a spot in mind. Right in front of the waterfall where we stood together when we exchanged pins,” Lyra told her.

“There’s a waterfall?” Saraya and Lexi exclaimed simultaneously, looks of shock and awe spreading across their faces.

“What else is hiding in there?” Saraya asked.

A chuckle escaped Hassian’s lips as he continued cleaning already clean things.

“You two stood in front of a waterfall and exchanged pins? Disgustingly adorable,” Lexi added, a faraway look in her eye as if trying to picture it.

“Okay,” Saraya declared, snapping her pen closed like a weapon being holstered. “We’ve got a theme. We’ve got a venue. We’ve got a planning board going in my brain. I call that a productive meeting.”

“Do you have any idea what you want to wear?” Lexi asked, stretching her arms overhead. “Because I need to know how dramatic my outfit is allowed to be.”

Lyra smiled, her eyes drifting toward the sunny window where her laundry line swayed lightly in the breeze. “Jel’s making my dress. It’s already in progress.”

“Oh?” Saraya perked up. “Do tell.”

“It’s simple,” Lyra said. “Long, flowy, summery. White. Nothing overdone—just soft and… me.” She shrugged one shoulder, but there was unmistakable excitement tucked in the corners of her voice.

“I’m going to cry,” Lexi said dramatically. “No, seriously. I’m going to sob through the whole ceremony. My makeup’s going to look like watercolor sludge. I will not apologize.”

Hassian, from the sink, muttered without looking up, “She will definitely apologize.”

Lexi pointed. “Rude and accurate. You’re getting glittered now. Just you wait.”

“Please don’t,” Saraya said with immediate authority. “We are not making the groom sparkle.”

“Why not?” Lyra teased, chin propped in her hand. “He already does. Just not where most people can see.”

That earned her a blink from Hassian—and a quiet, crooked smile.

Saraya stood, brushing macaron crumbs from her lap. “Okay, on that note, I need to get back before Simon files a missing person report.”

Lexi followed suit, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “And I need to go convince Rex to DJ this thing, or at least pretend to for five minutes.”

“Tell him I said no,” Hassian deadpanned.

“I’ll tell him you’re afraid,” she shot back, winking at Lyra on the way to the door.

When the girls were gone and the front door clicked softly shut, the house settled into a sun-drenched hush.

Lyra stood by the table for a moment, trailing her fingers over the edge. “That was nice,” she said softly.

“It was,” Hassian agreed, coming up behind her. His hands found her waist naturally, like they always did. “You’re happy.”

She leaned back against his chest. “I am.”

“Good.” A pause, then his voice—rough with affection: “Me too.”

He planted a kiss on her temple, then added, “Just… no glitter in the Grove. Or fireworks.”

Vows

Night had wrapped Killimai in silver and silence. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint hush of the sea and the sweet breath of lavender from the garden.

Lyra sat between Hassian’s legs on a blanket spread out in the backyard, his arms a sure weight around her, his breath steady against her hair. When he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, she felt it linger—warm, grounding, and full of unspoken things.

She turned slightly to look up at him, her smile soft. “You always do that.”

He raised a brow. “Do what?”

“Kiss my head. Like you’re sealing something there.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling through his chest against her back. “Maybe I am.”

Her fingers brushed over the pin at her chest, the metal cool against her skin. “It’s strange,” she said softly. “This tiny thing means everything now. Our whole future.”

“It means we chose each other,” he said simply. “Everything else is just detail.”

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “Speaking of details—Chayne said we should write our own vows.”

Hassian’s lips curved faintly. “Mhm, We should definitely write our own vows. He mentioned poems, too.”

Lyra laughed under her breath. “Of course he did. I should’ve guessed you’d like that idea.”

“I might already have a few lines,” he admitted, not quite sheepish.

She turned more fully toward him, eyes shining. “Of course you do.”

He smiled. “And you?”

“I’m not a poet,” she said. “But… I’ll try. For you.”

“For us,” he corrected gently. His thumb traced idle circles on her arm. “Just write what you feel. That’s all a poem really is.”

She leaned in until her forehead rested against his. “Then you’ll have to settle for something very simple.”

“Simple sounds perfect.” His voice had gone low, almost a whisper. “It’s us.”

For a long time they sat that way, the world reduced to the slow beat of their hearts and the sound of an owl in the distance. When she finally spoke again, her voice was a breath against his jaw.

“Promise me we’ll never stop making moments like this.”

He kissed her hair once more. “That's a promise I’ll never break.”