Kieran always finds himself back here. At the flower shop. Surrounded by the mingled scents of petals and soil and sunlight. Of you.

It is agony as much as it is a balm.

Agrippa, though she is the more senior witch, is absent. So you are the one left to brew his draught. Again.

“Done yet?” He asks gruffly. Just being here, being near you, makes him want to come out of his skin. But he needs his bond suppressant. There’s no other choice. Besides, it’s not like you know you’re his mate.