Five witches besides Isabella ward the colony site. Robots guard the site of the portal, obligingly letting colonists through during scheduled trips and reporting to Isabella by mirror if anybody else shows up. Other robots help the colonists with setting up their farms and houses in the warded area. It'll hold a city, no problem, although another transfer of silks and bags to pay for warding a second site is going to be called for before they get literally everyone across, since in addition to city they need farmland, and since they can't build vertically as effectively as fully industrialized Earthlings or the deceased aliens.
One day:
"It's been exactly a year now since you crashed my picnic. Let's go to a fancy restaurant and celebrate."
"A lot of witches can't digest lactose. I am glad I am not one of those."
"Huh. Yeah, that'd be annoying. How would you steal bites of my cheesecake if you couldn't eat it? I'd have to order something else."
"Very! I'd have to change a third of my recipes, as well, possibly more, just to cook for you."
"It would be very annoying," says Adarin, sappy smile on his face. "I would probably just stop cooking with dairy products entirely so I didn't have to have multiple cooking books."
"You would give up butter and cheese and cream for meeee?" says Isabella. The sigh is exaggerated. Her reciprocal sappy look isn't.
(He loves her so much.)
"Ah, so you'd give up dairy for me but you would not alphabetize. I see how it is," she teases.
Adarin snickers. "A man has to have boundaries, my dear. Alphabetizing is one step too far, I'm afraid."
"Very much so. I like our relationship, let's not let alphabetizing come between us."
(Under the table, Path is snuggling up to Vern like he's not a witch's daemon and she's a space heater and they are in Alaska.)
(Vern is snuggling Path right back, nestled comfortably and making soft cooing noises.)
"So now that we have finished our desserts we could go look for floating candle holders."
"There's ponds in Central Park, or we could portal to Chicago and put 'em in Lake Michigan." She heads out of the restaurant and starts peering around for likely places to buy floating votive candle holders.
"Either would work, though a little puddle would be kind of disappointing." He follows after, helping with the search.
Eventually they locate a department store, and an employee shows them the candle holder selection. Some of them float.
"You're the expert, love."
"Not quite as multicolored as the ones I'm used to, and they're shaped kind of strangely, but it should do," he informs Isabella.
"Could recolor them," she points out, meandering to the register to show her shiny black credit card. "Isn't that fairly simple?"
"There's not specific traditional ones?" she inquires. She pays and the cashier bags their candles and out they go to head back to the Manhattan portal.