Page 25 of A Match Made in Error

I start to turn, wanting to gently roll him to his side of the bed, but then, I hear him whisper something. “P-p-p—” I swear, if he is muttering in his sleep about pleasure, provocation, or parties, I’m going to thump him in the head.

“P-poppy.” He says my name softly, like he’s savoring it. I roll over, ignoring his muttering and pushing myself to the edge of the bed to try to find sleep again. He’s probably cursing my name in his sleep for getting us into this mess.

He keeps brushing against me, and when he sighs, it's warm enough that I feel it settle between my ribs. I value our friendship more than any other I’ve had before, but I wish I could find this easy comfort with a man who wanted to keep me.

And as I drift to sleep, for the first time in a long time, I let my traitorous mind wonder what might have happened if Riven had wanted to be mine all those years ago.

Would I be alone in the world if he had?

Winter Solstice Two Years Ago

RIVEN

Winter solstice has always belonged to people with somewhere to go.

Families. Lovers. Homes full of light. Not to people like me. Even since I left home and freed myself from the overbearing and fake celebration my equally overbearing and image-obsessed parents put on, I’ve spent them alone.

Which is why, this year, I refuse to let Poppy spend it alone. Last year, she traveled home to spend it with her parents, who, according to her, are so in love it’s almost sickening. But this year, Poppy gifted them a trip to see the celestial lights for the solstice, which takes place only once a year and is a romantic destination, not a family trip. And as excited as I know she was to get them this gift, I can tell she’s down about the idea of being alone today and tomorrow.

I wipe down a table, helping Poppy close the Foxhole after a very busy night filled with festive well-wishers and families from far and wide. The winter wind rattles the shutter while, in contrast, snow falls softly against the windows. My fingers fist the handles of the two mule cups on the table near the roaring hearth. Tables cleared: check. Just need to finish cleaning the glasses and invite Poppy to spend the solstice at my house, and the night will be complete.

I move into the kitchen to find Poppy sitting up on the counter. A cinnamon stick floats midair, headed for her mug of steaming tea. A bowl of dried oranges and cloves sits beside her, a decorative garland half strung on the counter. Like she lost the festive spirit halfway through and gave up. The washed and dried glasses are stacked by the sink, and her hair is piled high atop her head in a bun. Looks like she finished cleaning without me. Sometimes, I forget she’s a witch who can snap and shine the place up faster than I could make a to-do list for closing.

I lean against the door frame, the clanking of the glasses in my hand on the counter the only sign of my arrival.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she asks.

I shrug, noncommittally. “Not particularly.” Was I invited to a party at the estate of a very alluring female tonight? Yes. Could I have ventured home to the Ombra, the shadow fae’s secretive city of shadows? Probably, but I haven’t done that in years.

“No maidens to escort to the solstice ball at the mayor’s house?” I forgot about that invite…I’ll send him a bottle of whiskey as recompense tomorrow.

“Plenty, but they’re getting too clingy.” The wood creaks beneath my feet, and the magic in the water pipes rattles when I turn the sink water on. “Can’t spend a holiday with a fling.” Water splashes the front of my shirt when I slosh a wet rag in the mug to clean it.

“So better spend it alone?” I can hear the disdain in her voice. She’d never choose such a thing.

“Nah, I have other plans.” Because I can’t stand the thought of her spending the longest night of the year alone. “Any interest in coming to my house tonight? We can celebrate the long night and then be lazy all day tomorrow.” My voice is teasing and gives no inclination to the fact that I have set up elaborate decorations and paid a chef to prepare a solstice meal for us tomorrow.

Her spine straightens. “Really?”

“Really, really.” I smile, my back to her. “Grab an overnight bag and meet me-” I hear her snap, and when I turn, I see she’s changed into a matching sweater set in the colors of solstice and has a small overnight bag packed by her side.

“Ready.” She snaps once more, opening a portal to my manor house, a small magic that takes a great deal of her power. Some witches can transport across the universe, but Poppy can really only do it from one side of town to another, and even that about wipes her out. “Are you coming?” My smile deepens. Someone is eager.

“Yeah, Pop. I’m coming.”

All night long, we recreated old solstice traditions from both our childhoods. We lit extra candles in honor of my shadows, roasted chestnuts on the fire like her dad always does, and, of course, made hot cocoa.

Poppy sits, feet curled under her beside the fire, back against my couch. I’m sprawled on the couch above her, boots kicked off long ago and my head resting beside hers. The snow has yet to stop falling, and we’re content in the house amongst the crackling fire and scent of warm chocolate. Outside, the world folds deeper into winter’s hold. Inside, the fire burns like a small rebellion against it.

My shadows creep closer to Poppy. Over the course of the year we’ve been friends, I’ve seen them grow curious about her. Though they belong to me, they are semi-sentient and, therefore, like to make up their own mind about people before getting too close. They drift along the wall now, reaching for the kettle of cocoa and her empty mug and quietly refill it while she watches with rapt attention. Seems they’ve finally made up their mind about her.

“Don’t mind them,” I say softly. “Sometimes, they get bored that they only exist in service of their master.”

“They’re incredible,” she breathes. The mulled wine with dinner must have gotten to her brain, because most women, and men, are afraid of my shadows. As they should be. They’d kill at my command with a single word from my lips.

“You’re the first shadow fae I’ve ever known,” Poppy explains, holding her hand out and letting my shadows weave between her fingers lazily.

“I choose to hear: I’m the most handsome and charismatic shadow fae you’ve ever known.”