Page 22 of Hot Monster Summer

Coffee first.

Existential monster crisis second.

On the bright side, I haven’t thought of my cheating ex or my backstabbing sister once in the last week.

Progress?

I shuffle to the kitchenette and get the percolator going, trying to pretend this is all normal.

I make my way to my deck with my coffee, and what greets me outside is beyond beautiful.

My entire porch is covered in flowers.

Not store-bought bouquets, but wildflowers—lilies of the valley, bluebells, daisies, violets, and dozens of varieties I can’t even name—arranged in intricate patterns. They form spirals and whorls across the weathered wood, creating a carpet of color so vibrant it brings tears to my eyes.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, crouching to touch a perfect circle of tiny white star-shaped blooms. They’re rooted in soil that wasn’t on my porch yesterday.

Oren.

My heart does a stupid little flutter thing that I immediately try to squash.

A low growl from the tree line confirms I still have an audience. Kaelen’s massive form paces at the forest's edge, clearly displeased by Oren’s gift.

“Good morning to you, too, stalker wolf!” I call out, waving sarcastically.

I see his hackles rise, a warning he doesn’t bother to hide, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he sits on his haunches, eyes lockedon me with an intensity that should be terrifying, but somehow... isn’t.

I look back at the flower carpet and sigh. “This is getting out of hand.”

As if on cue, the lake’s surface ripples, and Caspian’s head emerges. Even from this distance, I can see his smirk.

“Good morning, my water Lily,” he calls, voice carrying easily across the water. “I see the troll is courting you.”

“You could call it that,” I mutter, knowing he can probably hear me, anyway.

I’m trapped in some bizarre monster wooing ritual, complete with jealous stare-downs and territorial marking via flora.

And I’m totally into it.

I spot movement at the forest’s edge—not where Kaelen is glowering, but further along the tree line. A flash of moss-green and the unmistakable bulk of Oren, partially hidden behind an ancient oak.

He’s watching for my reaction to his gift.

My cheeks warm as our eyes meet across the distance. He doesn’t approach; he stands there, like the surrounding trees, patient and still.

I find myself stepping barefoot onto the flower carpet, careful not to crush too many blooms. “It’s beautiful,” I call out, loud enough for him to hear.

A ripple of movement passes through the forest canopy near him—trees swaying despite the lack of wind. His doing, I realize. Maybe his version of a ‘you’re welcome.’

Screw it.

Before I can overthink it, I’m walking toward the forest, ignoring Kaelen’s warning growl and the splash from the lake that suggests Caspian is not happy with my reaction.

As I approach, Oren steps fully into view. Today, his bark-like skin seems to glow with vitality, more vibrant greens and brownsthan before. The flowers on his shoulders have multiplied, little bursts of color against his mossy frame.

“Liked gift?” he rumbles, hope evident in those beautiful eyes.

“It’s incredible,” I admit, stopping a few feet away. “But how did you grow them overnight? On wood?”

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