 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
"Ah, so we're rewriting history now?" he asked with a quiet laugh. "I refuse to believe I created the goofiness from nothing. At most, I uncovered it." He brushed his thumb briefly across Hartley's knuckles before adding, with unmistakable fondness, "And, for the record, I consider that one of my greater accomplishments."
The feast spread before them was every bit as impressive up close as it had been from across the courtyard. Dafydd took in the assortment of dishes, recognising favourite after favourite among them, and shook his head with quiet disbelief.
"Honestly, Hart, at this rate you're going to convince the entire wizarding world that I'm secretly royalty."
He pulled out a chair before setting the bouquet down carefully, ensuring not a single petal was disturbed. Only then did he settle into his seat, his gaze returning to Hartley with that steady warmth that never seemed to fade.
"Thank you," he said simply. Not for the roses. Not for the meal. For all of it. For every thoughtful gift gathered from distant corners of the world. For every small act of devotion that Hartley seemed to perform as naturally as breathing.
When nectarous drinks were brought to the table, Dafydd lifted his glass, pausing before taking a sip.
"A toast?"
One eyebrow arched.
"To a husband who somehow manages to be simultaneously brilliant, ridiculous, thoughtful, stubborn, generous, and impossibly handsome." His smile widened slightly. "To another year of marriage and many more years ahead." He gestured, his glass tipping gently toward Hartley's.
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