Then the older Bennett sister says softly, “Well. I guess that settles that.”
The spell breaks. People applaud, but it’s gentle, reverent. They know what they just witnessed.
Muir crosses to me. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing.
“That was,” he stops, starts again, “you’re extraordinary.”
“I know,” I say, and he laughs.
The evening continues, but now people approach us differently. Not with questions or teasing, but with warmth. With welcome.
A massive shadow moves through the firelight, and I look up to see Roarke approaching. Seven feet of lion-man, his mane catching the firelight in shades of gold and amber. Beside him, Liana, a little taller than me, curvy and strong, her black hair in its usual braid-wrapped bun.
“Muir,” I say, “this is Roarke and Liana. Roarke’s the town vet. Liana is the reason I don’t starve.”
Roarke extends a massive hand. “Good to meet you properly. I’ve heard a lot.”
Muir shakes it without hesitation. “All terrible, I’m sure.”
“Some of it,” Roarke says mildly. “But Cora’s singing just now cleared up most questions.”
Liana steps forward and, without preamble, hugs me. “I’m glad,” she says quietly in my ear. Then she releases me and turns to Muir. “You hurt her again, and Roarke won’t be the one you need to worry about.”
“Understood,” Muir says seriously.
“Good.” She smiles. “Now that’s settled, have you eaten? I brought lumpia for the pot luck.”
Before Muir can answer, there’s a commotion near the edge of the gathering. A blue shape hurtles through the darkness, wings flapping enthusiastically but without much coordination.
Nugget lands in a graceless tumble, sending sand flying. He’s about the size of a pony, all scales and enthusiasm and zero sense of personal space.
“Nugget, gentle,” Roarke says, but the baby dragon is already bounding toward us.
He stops in front of Muir, tilting his head with intense curiosity. Then, before anyone can stop him, he attempts to perch on Muir’s shoulder.
“Nugget, no,” Liana starts.
But Muir just adjusts his stance, bracing himself as several hundred pounds of baby dragon clambers onto him. Nugget settles with a satisfied chirp, his tail wrapping around Muir’s waist for balance.
“Hello,” Muir says calmly, as if this is perfectly normal. “You must be Nugget.”
The dragon chirps again, nuzzling against Muir’s neck.
“He likes you,” Roarke observes. “That’s rare. He usually only does that with Liana and me.”
“I’m honored,” Muir says. He reaches up to scratch under Nugget’s chin, and the dragon makes a sound like a purring earthquake.
I watch this, Muir covered in baby dragon, completely unfazed, gentle and steady, and something in my chest cracks open even wider.
Others approach throughout the evening. People who remember Muir from four years ago, offering cautious welcomes that warm into genuine pleasure as the night goes on. People who never met him but have heard the stories, curious and kind. The town folds him back in, not with fanfare, but with the quiet acceptance that Harmony Glen does best.
By the time the fire burns low, Muir has been adopted by half the gathering. Nugget is asleep on his shoulder. Liana has fed him three times. Mr. Calloway has told him the entire history of the lake’s fish population.
I catch his eye across the fire. He’s smiling, not the careful, controlled expression I’ve seen all summer, but something open and real.
Home, I think.He’s home.
When the bonfire starts to break up, we help clean, folding chairs, dousing embers, making sure nothing gets left on the beach. Nugget wakes long enough to fly back to Roarke and Liana’s place, his wings working slightly better than before.