“Pneumeros,” Dionysus said, voice slow as velvet and just as dangerous, “I need your help.”

That alone should’ve made me run.

Instead, I stood in the doorway of his garden alcove like an idiot, watching him stir something viscous and purple in a gleaming glass bowl.

“Help,” I echoed warily. “With what?”

“Come closer and I’ll show you.”

I took a step. The vines overhead shifted, leaves whispering. The scent of crushed berries and warm sun filled my lungs. Dionysus’s private little grove—half garden, half sanctuary, all temptation.

He wore a loose tunic open to his chest, feet bare in the soft moss. Wine stained his fingertips, and his smile curved like something that knew it was dangerous.

He was trouble. He was spice, incarnate.

But I didn’t turn around.

“I’m making a truthwine,” he said, swirling the bowl. “Takes a demigod’s touch to stabilize it, and you, dear Timekeeper, have hands full of just the right sort of magic.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re using me as a wine stabilizer?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, “I’m using you as bait.”

Before I could ask what that meant, he dipped his fingers into the bowl and then—without asking—pressed them to my lips.

I froze.

The wine was warm. Sweet. A little tangy. His fingers lingered half a second too long.

“There,” he said, voice a bit lower now. “Spiced.”

I licked my lips before I could stop myself. His eyes followed the motion, sharp and slow.

“You’re a menace,” I muttered.

“And you,” he said, circling me, “are a beautiful mess pretending you don’t want someone to unravel you.”

My breath hitched. I hated that he could read me like that.

“You’re not subtle,” I said.

“I’m not trying to be.” He moved behind me. “But you… you’re the one who smiles like a blade and blushes like a boy.”

“I don’t—” I started.

He pressed close. Not touching. Just… close. I felt his breath behind my ear.

“I could make you forget the weight of all your clocks,” he whispered. “For a night. Or forever.”

The world slowed around me. My pulse thundered louder than it had any right to.

And then—he stepped back. Just like that. The spell broke.

“I’m joking,” he said breezily, walking past me again. “Mostly.”

I turned slowly. “You enjoy messing with me.”

“Of course,” he said, shrugging. “You’re beautiful when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“You’re always flustered around me.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Because, annoyingly, he wasn’t wrong.

He looked over his shoulder. “Now, are you going to help me finish this wine, or stand there blushing all day?”

I walked over, faking calm. “Let’s just make the wine.”

He grinned, satisfied. “That’s the spirit.”

We sat under a tangled fig tree, sipping the finished truthwine. It shimmered faintly in our cups.

Dionysus lay back on the moss, arms tucked behind his head. “You know,” he said lazily, “there’s no shame in wanting more than duty.”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

He looked at me. Really looked. “Because you’re scared.”

“Of you?”

“No. Of feeling too much.”

I swallowed.

He reached over, brushed a fingertip along my jaw. It was the lightest touch I’d ever felt. More promise than contact.

“Gods live forever,” he said softly. “You don’t. So stop pretending you’ve got all the time in the world.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Especially from him.

He sat up then, far too close. “Just one kiss, and I promise—no tricks, no potions. Just us.”

I hesitated.

He smirked, but there was something gentler beneath it. Not mockery. Not conquest.

A real offer.

“Not yet,” I whispered.

He nodded, surprisingly respectful. “But soon?”

I gave him the smallest smile. “Maybe.”

And Dionysus, who had flirted with every breath he took, looked almost… satisfied.

“Your maybe,” he said, raising his glass to me, “is worth more than most mortals’ yes.”

We toasted in silence.

And even though he’d pressed my buttons, stirred my thoughts, and gotten under my skin in a way I hated to admit—I left that grove with my heart racing.

Because he was right.

I didn’t have forever.