11. ISAAC

Chapter eleven

ISAAC

T he Flower Festival was in full swing. The vendors were selling their wares, the shows were in action, and the crowds had descended. For a flora-loving introvert like me, it was paradise and purgatory, all in one.

Yesterday, Ash and I had spent the day leisurely scouring the showgrounds, browsing the exhibits and stalls—from engraved gardening tools to handmade pots. We'd stuffed our faces with all the delicious food and watched various displays and expert talks.

We'd had fun, we'd laughed a lot, and his company was appreciated, but the energy had shifted today. An even greater flood of spectators and contestants bustled around, waiting for the main event.

It's finally here…

As we went through the motions of setting up my workbench, I glanced around the busy marquee at the other participants, at the heaps of talent in this space alone, and nervousness sizzled under my skin. There was excitement there, too. Of course there was. But being in here, in full view, confined to my corner by an intense current of sounds and smells, had my flight reflexes pulsing. I tried to stay positive, to boldly wear the confidence I'd newly rediscovered, but I hadn't quite anticipated just how overwhelming and fucking scary all of this would be.

I was bricking it.

"You're tense," Ash said as he appeared behind me, seemingly out of nowhere, and although I was fully used to his antics by now, I still flinched.

"I hate how you do that."

"Do what, petal?"

"Sneak up on me, then read me like a picture book."

He hummed, and that signature smirk of his spread across his face. "You are as transparent as a dragonfly wing, my dear. Though, I do wish I could read thoughts. It would have made the last few centuries that much more eventful. Can you imagine how entertaining it would be to so effortlessly exploit a being's greatest fears? What an intoxicating thought."

Not the word I'd have used.

"You're kinda deranged."

"It's pronounced demon , petal." He plucked a rose from its bucket, twisting the stem between his long fingers, but instead of chiding him for messing with the inventory, I tracked the movement, knowing exactly how good that strumming motion felt on my —

"You're staring."

My gaze darted up to meet his smug one, and I scoffed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he affected me. "You're dicking about; course I'm staring." I turned away, busying myself with stacking bricks of floral foam, or whatever else demanded none of my attention. "Just behave yourself."

"What will you do if I don't?" The flower he'd been toying with swept across my nape, the tickle of velvet petals causing goosebumps to prickle in their wake. "I think you should punish me, sweetling. I'll even show you how."

An undignified snort erupted from my throat, and I reached back to shove his face away. His human tongue flicked out to playfully lave at my thumb before I could pull it away.

"Stop being a pest," I hissed half-heartedly. "I need to focus."

"You need an orgasm," he said, thankfully lowering his voice. "There was a quiet little nook over by the Marigold Garden. If you're silent, we won't be discovered, and you know I can be quick."

"You're impossible." I huffed, though the idea was tempting. Under any other circumstances, I'd have taken him up on the offer without hesitation, but right now, I couldn't afford any distractions.

No matter how relaxing they promised to be.

Ducking under his arm, I ignored his pout, taking stock of my stall to be sure everything was there before the first round began. It would be a bit tough titty, if it wasn't. The shop was four hours away, but I supposed a powerful demon was at my disposal, if push came to shove. I'd never dream of cheating or giving myself an unfair advantage, even if Ash would revel in that kind of mischief. I wanted to get through this as independently as possible, but if I discovered I'd left my favourite shears in my back room, well, needs must.

The ruffle of a tent flap secured my attention, and one by one the judges wandered in to take their seats behind the podium. There were show officials filtering in and out, checking and double checking to make sure everything was ready, ensuring rules and regulations were being followed. A camera crew came next, weaving through the mob to set up tripods while others spread out amongst the contestants, being sure to catch every single angle imaginable.

Spectators were last. Flocking into every available space, chattering among themselves, and ramping up the heavy atmosphere tenfold.

My heart picked up speed.

My throat tightened.

It's starting.

The grounding warmth of Ash's solid body settled against my back, the ghost of his breath fanning over my ear. "Calm yourself, petal," he whispered. "Everything will be fine. I know you can do it."

I believed it. Or at least it felt more achievable than it had before. If only the situation didn't have me so on edge.

"What if I lose?" I said.

"You won't."

"How can you be certain?"

He spun me to face him, his expression more serious than I'd ever seen it. "Because I know what you're capable of, and everyone here pales in comparison." Soft hands bracketed my cheeks, thumbs sweeping as if brushing my freckles. "I can't promise you'll win, but I can promise you'll do your best and be recognised for it. How could you not be?"

The sincerity in his eyes made the rising worry ease a little, my chest and shoulders feeling looser and lighter already. "Don't tell Wayne, but I think you've taken his place as my number one supporter."

Huffing a laugh, he smiled and rested his forehead against mine. "You'd be wise to remember it, my darling."

I released a steadying breath, nodding once before retreating.

He was right. I could do this. I'd made it to this stage, into this tent, because I was at least as good as everyone else.

I just had to prove it.

"Welcome, all, to the thirtieth annual Sunday Show, the country's most anticipated floral competition, where our best and brightest will battle it out for the title of Florist of the Year!" The contest official stood on the platform at the front of the tent, addressing the cameras and the masses alike, microphone in hand. He performed mostly for the TV show, exaggerating his speech and looking every bit the eccentric presenter I'd expected him to be.

From his feather boa to his tri-coloured waistcoat, he blended in well.

I'd even caught Ash giving an appreciative nod at his attire.

"We'll get to the part you're all here for in just a moment," the host added with a sunny smile on his maroon-painted lips. "But first, let me run you through the slight adjustments to this year's rules and agenda…"

The contestants had already been briefed on how the day would pan out. The first two arrangements would be Judges' Choice. We had ninety minutes to make a Christmas wreath for round one, and sixty minutes for a wedding centrepiece for the second. At the end of each round, the judges would pick who was to proceed to the next based on execution, technique, punctuality, and imagination—the unique twist we incorporated into our pieces. There would be a small break to allow those who were unsuccessful to vacate the tent, and then we'd have two hours to create our showpieces for the final.

Easy enough.

In theory.

"Is that all clear?" The host waited for the crowd's agreement, laughing at the sheer volume of impatient yeses thrown his way. "Very well then, I think it's about time we get this show on the road, don't you?" He paused again for the roaring applause, and my stomach dropped to my arse.

The weight of hundreds of eyes tracking my movements as I shifted nervously behind my stall had me wringing my hands to release the tension.

Fuuuuck.

"Contestants, are you ready?"

No.

"Then, on your marks…" He delayed for dramatic effect. "Get set…" The sudden silence in the marquee was deafening. "Go!"

I fumbled with my chicken wire and moss ring at first, the klaxon making my fingers shake. But after a deep breath and a shoulder squeeze from Ash, I managed to tune out the surrounding buzz.

My attention narrowed to my hands as they went through the motions I'd done a hundred times before. Wreaths had always been popular, even when my shop wasn't, and they were one of my favourite arrangements to make. They could be simple or showy, bright or muted, and with the Christmas theme, I was excited to assemble the vision in my mind.

Ash did whatever was instructed of him, be it cutting stalks or weaving Stewart tartan bows around sticks of cinnamon, and he did so without complaint. There was a brief incident when he flagged down my attention just to snicker and point out that the anthuriums vaguely resembled an overly red cock and balls. But that aside, he was on his best behaviour.

An indulgent smile crept onto my face as I gauged my progress. Instead of using holly for the base like many of the other contestants, I sporadically placed branches of green kangaroo paw—a sculptural backdrop for the thistles and abracadabra roses I'd tucked in between. Already, I was proud of what I'd put together, and by the time the ninety minutes were up, I was damn near vibrating out of my skin with anticipation to show it off.

I was casually nestling a pinecone into the last gap when the klaxon sounded, signalling the end of the round.

"Drop your tools and step back from your workbenches," the official instructed, and I did so, chewing my bottom lip as I studied my creation.

It was maximalist, for sure, but it was ‘Christmas,' and with a quick scan around, I thought it was different enough to scrape through. Unless the judges have no taste , the voice in my head uttered, and it sounded too much like Ash for comfort.

I swore, he had better not be palming his arrogance off on me.

Or hiding his ability to communicate telepathically.

The judges took a leisurely lap of the tent, thoroughly assessing each contestant's work before returning to select their favourites for the next round. They offered handshakes as a signal of your fate. If you received one, you were through. If you didn't …

Well, it was home time.

It had to be amongst the best moments of my life when I was one of the first to be picked. The surge of confidence that burst in my belly had me expecting to look down and find myself hovering above the ground.

Ash was at my side, grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and I couldn't even find it in myself to roll my eyes. "Let me guess, you told me so ?"

"Mhm." He huffed a cocky little laugh, and gave me a quick kiss on the temple. "I must admit, it is exhilarating being right all the time."

Still soaring from the minor win, the next round seemed to go off without a hitch. I flitted around with a spring in my step, beaming like I owned the sun and positive that nothing could ever ruin my good mood.

Until it did.

The goal was a teardrop centrepiece. It wasn't a new or innovative design, but after the extravagance of the first round, I thought it was best to dial it back and try something chic and elegant to show the range in my repertoire.

Probably would've been a brilliant idea had half the flowers I'd chosen not disintegrated in my hands as soon as I picked them up.

"What the hell—" I brought the bucket to my nose, blanching as the acrid scent of disinfectant hit me at force. "There's bleach in the water. "

Ash's gaze flamed before turning dark and murderous—thankfully with his back to the cameras. Under any other circumstances it would have turned me on seeing him so riled up on my behalf, ready to bring hell down upon whoever was responsible, but I was too ruffled for that right now.

"Someone has sabotaged you?"

That had been my initial thought as well, but then the events of the morning played out in my head, and realisation dawned.

Scrubbing a hand across my face, I sighed. "No, I… I mustn't have screwed the cap on the bottle properly. There was a fucking wet patch in the boot of my car, but I thought it was water. I didn't think to check if anything had leaked into the buckets."

"Put them back, and I'll fix it," Ash offered, implying magic with a flex of his fingers. I shook my head, eyeing the camera that was pointed directly at my station, helpfully capturing the entire disaster as it unfolded.

"It's too risky," I said. "I'll just have to use something else. What white flowers are left?"

Ash cringed. "Calla lilies."

Fuck .

There was simple, and then there was using lilies for a fucking wedding arrangement, but I had no choice. It was those or nothing, and even if part of me was chanting to throw in the towel now, I refused to give up .

"They'll do." I scrabbled for my shears and began snipping off stalks.

Everything was hazy, my laser focus on situating the flowers so perfectly that their plainness would be overlooked. I fluffed out the arrangement with greenery, aiming for a more rustic, forest-fairy beauty instead of the classic refinery. I'd restarted twice, first unhappy with the shape, then angry that the petals weren't falling in the direction I'd wanted them to. I got myself on track eventually, but I'd wasted so much time, and there were still so many flaws.

Maybe I could borrow some spares from a neighbouring stall, replace the lilies with literally anything else, or add in a few—

"Time's up!" the host called, and I recoiled in alarm.

The timer had crept up on me, and as I stood there with a white lily between my fingers, staring down at my piece—barely finished and not at all what I'd envisioned—I felt my whole body drain of energy.

It's not enough.

This time, when the judges did their inspections, it felt like hours instead of minutes. All I could do was disappear into my head, listen to the voices scrutinising my work, criticising everything I'd missed, and finding fault. It had only taken one hurdle to sweep my feet out from under me, to topple the illusion of smooth sailing. Anyone else would've had backups, would've shrugged and moved on without spending so much time faffing around over details that didn't fucking matter. I shouldn't have chosen simplicity. I should've gone all out and piggybacked off the vibes of my last piece—the reason they'd put me through.

Why, today of all days, had I decided to be such an idiot?

My feet were restless with the wait, tapping out a rhythm as my eyes tracked the judges like a hawk's, stomach twisting as spot after spot for the final was filled, but not by me. Ash laced his fingers through mine, a silent reassurance, though a tally from the host had my anxiety rising.

There was one space left, and when the judges drifted closer to my table, my breath caught in my lungs. They seemed to be debating between three of us, humming and hawing as if we weren't all dying for the results. None of our arrangements were similar, not even the general shape, and mine was, without question, the simplest. One lass had gone for a tropical theme, all yellows, blues, and pinks, while the other had captured full glamour with glitter-dipped petals and gold accents—probably something Ash would have created.

I stood no chance.

Except, defying all rationality, one of the judges broke away from the group and strode towards me, a friendly smile on her face, her hand extended. It genuinely felt like a dream, and the relief that swept through me once her fingers uncurled from mine had my knees buckling, the thundering applause a distant warble in my ears.

I may have teared up .

Sagging onto the table like a puppet without strings, my head fell into my hands, and Ash rubbed soothing circles on my back, cooing softly.

"Well done, pet," he said before fetching a bottle of water and urging me to drink. I did so on autopilot, parched yet barely registering the coolness sliding down my dry throat as I keenly observed the unsuccessful participants packing up their stalls with dejected expressions before leaving the tent.

That could have been me.

What if I'm next?

I'd scraped through by the skin of my teeth, and highly doubted I'd be so lucky a second time, especially when I hadn't yet decided on the design for my showpiece and only had two hours to pull it off. I'd brought all of my supplies with me, every last flower and stand, in the hopes that something would spark in the moment. That I'd have this great epiphany and it would all work out fine.

But even as the crowd and official counted down from three, the alarm blared, and the other finalists got stuck in, I was completely blank.

Pressure built, the feeling of being way out of my depth crushing against my chest. I hadn't prepared for this to be so frantic and fast paced. I hadn't really prepared at all.

People studied me from the sidelines, spectators gawking at my inaction as they chatted among themselves, snacks in hand like they were at the pictures. The judges watched me and whispered, probably wondering why the hell I was the only one just standing behind my table like a deer in headlights.

What was it I'd said about believing in myself?

Was it too late to reconsider?

"I lied," I mumbled to no one in particular, taking slow, steady breaths so I didn't hyperventilate. "I can't do this. I really can't do this."

Ash was there in an instant, guiding me into a chair at the side as he crouched between my legs. He had that look in his eyes again, the one I'd noticed the other day but hadn't dared to hope meant anything. His hands were warm and gentle as they stroked my thighs, the touch distracting enough to curb the welling panic. I swallowed around the lump in my throat.

"You can do anything, petal," he said once I was more aware, the world around us no longer muddled and foggy as if underwater, but still narrowed down to him and me. "I do not throw my belief around blindly. If you were not capable, you'd have received no lies from me, but Isaac…" He cradled my hand in his, caressing my knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "You are the most impressive little creature I have ever met. You have managed to astound me at every turn, and have become something of great importance to me."

There was a brief pause before a soft laugh escaped him, as if he'd come to some sort of internal conclusion. He entwined our fingers, bringing them to his lips. "Be it by mistake, fate, or intention, I am glad that you summoned me. "

I shook my head, a stray tear rolling down my cheek. "You're only saying that because you have no choice. Once you're free, you'll forget me."

An alien expression flickered over Ash's face. Was that… guilt? "The spell is already broken," he admitted, lowering our hands but not letting go. My brow furrowed. "You freed me the moment you realised your worth, and I'm still here, exactly where I want to be. With you, my darling."

My chest was tight for another reason entirely now, my heart threatening to leap straight out of my throat. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"This is new territory for me," he said, and it was a shock to see him deliberately being so vulnerable, laying his emotions bare out in the open for anyone to see—cameras, contestants, everyone. I bit my tongue to stifle even my weakest of breaths. I didn't want to miss a single word, or cause him to stop. "I had to be sure that my feelings for you weren't a product of the spell. I now know, without a shadow of a doubt, that they are not."

I sniffed. "It's not just the Stockholm talking?"

"Come now, do you think I would place my heart so deliberately in the hands of just anyone ?" He gave me a pointed look, making me snort—the sound was wet and gross, but he didn't seem to care. A testament to his affections, to be sure. "No, the adoration I feel for you has come naturally. It is not forced, it is not required. It is strange, as I've never known it, but that makes it no less true. I cannot promise I will excel at romance, my dear, you may need to be patient as I navigate, but I'll try. Be assured that, for you , I'd do anything."

As far as declarations went, it was pretty darn perfect, though it wouldn't have been Ash if he hadn't tacked on, "However, I do excel at everything else, so why would this be any different?"

I shook my head in fond exasperation. "What about your home?"

"Well, I happen to have grown quite accustomed to a cosy little flat above a very pretty flower shop." He propped himself on my knees, rising to brush his lips tauntingly over mine before dropping his voice to a filthy rumble. "The bed, especially, is extremely comfortable. The company is not bad, either."

"You want to live with me?"

"My dear," he purred, smirking wickedly. "I already do."

With a laugh, I tangled my fingers in his hair and kissed him as if it were the first time, giving zero shits about the possibility that it could be shown on TV. I wanted everyone to know. Wanted them to see that he was mine and I was his , and witness just how fucking electric the spark was that burned between us.

I'd never expected reciprocation. I'd known about my own feelings for weeks and been aware of our compatibility even earlier than that, but I'd been terrified of offering up my heart only for it to be broken whenever he left. To find out that he'd been harbouring the same feelings, to know that he cared for me as much as I cared for him had adrenaline rushing through my veins, triggering the swell of confidence that had wavered.

The contest.

Ash, ever observant, withdrew, and kissed the tip of my nose before standing. He held out his hand, smiling broadly. Everything is okay. "Now, enough dawdling. Tell me the plan so you can win that trophy."

I took his offered hand with an enthusiastic nod, an idea rushing to me as soon as my gaze landed on my worktable, on the orange phoenix feather and the sunny tarot card peeking out from one of the baskets.

I know exactly what to do.

"And in third place… Isaac Miller from Miller's Meadow!"

Tears streamed down my face as I weaved through the cheering crowd, my shoulders numb from the congratulatory taps of my peers. My legs shook as I climbed onto the podium, palms still smudged with soil and flecked with leaves, sweating as the bronze trophy was handed over to me.

The weight of it felt solid and real.

Not a dream.

The cameras panned to me, but my gaze drifted to my workbench, to the arrangement standing proudly on display. It was a phoenix—could it really have been anything else? Its fiery, cascading tail was built from sunflowers and Naranja roses, its head a bird of paradise, and my cheeks ached with the width of my smile. I was thrilled. It was beautiful. A showpiece worthy of third place.

I sought out Ash, our eyes locking through the crowd, and his mirroring grin was all delight and affection. It said ‘I had faith in you; you deserve this,' and two months ago, I wouldn't have believed him, but now…

How could I not?

After my brother had slipped me the address of that magic shop, when the man behind the counter had promised to make all of my dreams come true, I hadn't believed him either. I'd thought I was a lost cause. That even if spells and hexes were real, I didn't deserve their help or guidance.

But fate had a wicked sense of humour, and the magic I'd once refused to acknowledge was the reason I now felt happier than I ever had before.

Demon summoning, as it turned out, was definitely not a crock of shite.