The prompt that served as parameters for this short story: Write a short story in which every sentence starts with a different word. The story must include a girl, a feather (could be more than one), and the word “sugar.”

…

Trillian’s Treasures, Trinkets, and Tchotchkes is by far the most well-stocked bits and baubles shop in all of Magic City. Bits and baubles are Marigold’s favorite things. Were she able to, she’d gladly spend every day at that store. Unfortunately, Trillian’s is never hiring, so Marigold has settled on a routine of weekly visits to peruse the unique wares.

When a month has five weeks, the fifth week focuses on a theme. January’s fifth week is brief, but the theme is feathers. Upon entering Trillian’s, Marigold is surprised and delighted to see feathers of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Feathered jewelry, feather pens, feathered figurines, and vases full of feathers fill the shop, along with all sorts of fluffy, colorful paraphernalia. With waving hands and a barely-suppressed squeal, Marigold slowly spins in the main room, taking it all in.

“Hello, darling,” Basil says, smiling at Marigold.

She gives him a polite nod and shy smile in return. If Trillian’s Treasures, Trinkets, and Tchotchkes is the most well-stocked bits and baubles shop in all of Magic City, Basil is the most handsome (and flirtatious) shopkeeper. While Marigold fancies him to be little more than a voracious flirt, he merely fancies her.

“Imagine how fetching you’d look perched in front of this bouquet of pheasant feathers,” Basil says, slowly pushing a rather lavish bouquet toward the center of the front counter.

Her eyes double in size. “There’s no way I can afford that. It is rather lovely, though.”

“Perhaps I could be persuaded to give you a discount,” Basil says, wiggling his thick, brown eyebrows in a playful manner.

Giggling, Marigold shakes her head. “You do like to tease me, don’t you, Basil?”

“Why, darling, I would never. Teasing is a peasant’s sport, and you, my love, are a queen.”

“Is that flattery or fiddle-faddle?” Marigold asks.

“Flattery. Obviously.”

“Oh, well, in that case, what a compliment you’ve paid me. Wrap up the bouquet!” Marigold waves her hand with a small flourish to emphasize her sarcasm.

“Now who’s the tease? Darling, please, take pity on me. I am but a humble man in love,” Basil says.

“Off you go again,” she says, shaking her head. “Do excuse me while I look through the rest of the shop.”

“Hardly anything’s changed since last week, little love,” he calls after her as she rounds the corner. “My feelings though—they’ve grown!”

Flushed with sudden embarrassment, Marigold ducks behind the nearest hat rack and hides her blushing face against some silk scarves. Could Basil be serious? Or is this just an unfortunate sales technique? Flirt with the customers so they’ll come back and buy more later. A vile practice, if so.

Haunted by the belief that Basil is toying with her, Marigold has perhaps the most unpleasant time at Trillian’s that she’s ever had. No bits or baubles in the world could distract her from the gnawing ache growing in her gut.

After looking through a few rooms without really seeing them, she makes her way back to the front of the shop.

“Finished already?” Basil asks, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yes. Be seeing you,” Marigold mutters, hurrying toward the door.

“Take some sugar for your travels!” Basil calls, holding up a pack of freshly baked cookies.

“Thank you, but no,” she calls back, dashing out the door.

Tears begin to spill down Marigold’s face as she races up the sidewalk. How silly she is—such a foolish girl—to entertain the idea that Basil has even an ounce of sincerity within him. Taking refuge on a small bench at the edge of town, Marigold covers her face with her hands and begins to cry.

“Good grief, Marigold,” Basil says, plopping down beside her. His breathing is labored. “Did you see a ghost or something?”

“What did you follow me for?” she asks with a start.

Chuckling, he says, “Love, mostly.”

“Stop teasing me,” Marigold says, frowning.

“Listen, I love you. Really and truly, I do. Go on crying if you must, but at least let me kiss you first.”

“Kiss me?!” she exclaims, jumping to her feet.

“Can I?” he asks, standing as well.

Suddenly excited by the possibility that her rogue hope was not misplaced, she looks up into his eyes. Earnestness meets her gaze—the earnestness of a man really, truly in love.

“Proceed.”

“Gladly.”

Gently, Basil run his hands through Marigold’s hair, tucking a pheasant feather behind her ear. He moves his hands to her waist, pulls her close, and kisses her softly.

Forget the bits and baubles. Basil is by far the best thing Marigold has ever gotten from Trillian’s Treasures, Trinkets, and Tchotchkes.