"Don't do that." Jason bumped his shoulder against mine. "We're both talented. Just different."
Garrett arrived with drinks that looked like Christmas in a mug. "Peppermint Mocha Madness. On the house."
"You made Jason happy enough to glow," Hayden said. "That makes you a guest of honor in my book."
The conversation flowed easily. Garrett asked about my books, Hayden wanted to know about the retreat, Micah asked thoughtful questions about my creative process. Finn stayed mostly quiet, but I could feel him watching.
"So what's the plan?" Finn asked eventually. "You staying in Jason's cottage? For how long?"
"Finn," Jason warned.
"No, it's fine." I met Finn's gaze steadily. "I don't have a plan yet. That's terrifying and exhilarating. But I know I needed to be here. To see if Jason and I can build something real."
"And if you can't?" Finn's tone wasn't hostile, just protective.
"Then I'll figure it out. But I'm not going to know unless I try."
Something in Finn's expression softened slightly. "Fair enough. But hurt him and you'll have to deal with all of us."
"I'd expect nothing less."
Micah leaned forward. "Look, we're protective because we care about him. But we also trust him. If Jason thinks you're worth it, that means something."
"Fair enough. I get it."
Around us, The Perch filled with the lunch crowd. People waved at Garrett, stopped by to say hello to Jason and give me curious looks. Small town life. But instead of feeling intrusive, it felt welcoming.
***
After lunch, Jason showed me around town.
We walked down Main Street bundled against the December cold. Every shop window held an elaborate Christmas display—the florist had a winter garden scene, the hardware store featured a village made of tools.
"It's small," Jason said, almost apologetically. "After New York, it must seem—"
"Perfect," I interrupted, squeezing his gloved hand. "It seems perfect."
We stopped in front of the library—a converted old schoolhouse with tall windows and a bell tower, its front steps wrapped in garland.
"This is where I work," Jason said, pride in his voice. "Want to see inside?"
The library was exactly what I'd imagined—high ceilings, old wooden shelves, tall windows letting in winter light. The woman at the circulation desk looked up when we entered.
"Jason! And you brought a friend."
"This is Brent. He's visiting."
"Visiting," she repeated, clearly reading between the lines. "How nice. Will you be staying long?"
"I'm not sure yet," I said honestly. "Depends on a few things."
"Well, any friend of Jason's is welcome here."
We wandered through the stacks and I watched Jason in his element. The way he ran his fingers along book spines with affection. How he straightened books automatically. A patron approached for a recommendation and I watched him ask gentle questions before leading her to exactly the right section.
"I love this," he said quietly when the patron left. "Helping people find stories they need. It's not glamorous, but it matters."
"It absolutely matters." I pulled him close. "You matter. What you do here—it's important."
