I look down at our joined hands, marveling at how natural it feels, even now, even after everything. “Where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know,” she admits. “But I’d like to find out. If you’re willing.”
The honesty in her eyes is almost too much to bear. I’ve spent so long expecting rejection, preparing for it, that acceptance feels foreign, dangerous even.
“I’m not good at this,” I warn her. “At letting people in.”
“So you keep saying.” A small smile plays on her lips. “Luckily, I’m stubborn.”
I can’t help but smile back. “Luckily for me.”
She steps closer, her free hand coming up to rest on my chest, just over my heart. “I’m not asking for promises, Jericho. Just… try. With me.”
The last of my resistance crumbles. I pull her to me, burying my face in her hair, breathing her in. She wraps her arms around my waist, holding on like she’s afraid I might vanish.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I murmur against her temple.
“I’m sorry I ran.”
We stand like that for a long time, just holding each other, the silence between us comfortable now, healing.When she finally pulls back, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
“So,” she says, her voice lighter.
“About that pie,” I say, nodding toward the kitchen. “Think it’s still good?”
Her laugh is warm, relieved. “I just made it this morning. It’d better be. But I have to warn you, I’ve been told my baking is a bit much, and I haven’t done it in ages.”
We move to the kitchen, the tension between us dissolving with each step. I pull plates from the cabinet while she cuts generous slices of both pies, insisting I try each. The domestic simplicity of sharing dessert in my kitchen—her moving around my space like she belongs here—settles something restless inside me.
“This is good,” I say after the first bite of apple pie, the cinnamon warming my tongue.
“Really?” Her face brightens with pure hope.
I take another bite, larger this time—there are spices I can’t identify that dance between lines of strange and delicious, and my taste buds can’t decide which is more pleasurable. “Best pie I’ve ever had,” I amend, and her smile makes me want to say it again and again, just to keep that light in her eyes. “So good.”
“So,” she says, pushing her own pie around her plate, suddenly serious again. “Where do we go from here?”
I consider the question, weighing my words carefully. “Forward, I guess. Together, if that’s what you want.”
“I do.” She reaches across the counter to touch my hand. “But I think we need to promise each other something.”
“What’s that?”
“No more secrets. No more hiding the hard parts.” Her eyes hold mine, steady and sure. “We tell each other everything, even when it’s difficult. Especially then.”
I nod, the weight of the promise settling on my shoulders.It won’t be easy—opening up has never come naturally to me—but for her, I’ll try.
“Deal,” I say, turning my hand to clasp hers.
She smiles, and something inside me shifts, locks into place. Like the final piece of a machine clicking home, making everything run smoother.
“There’s something else I should probably tell you,” she says, her expression turning mischievous.
“Another deep dark secret?”
“Not exactly.” She bites her lip, suppressing a smile. “It’s about the rooster.”
I groan, already knowing this can’t be good. “What about him?”
