Bran kisses my hair.
“I’d like that,” he says. “Consider this hour a Henry-free zone.”
“Perfect,” I say. “Then you can focus on the very important question of where we’re putting the bookshelves in the new place.”
He groans.
“Tink,” he says. “We haven’t even signed the papers yet.”
“We’re going to,” I say breezily. “I saw the way you looked at that little craftsman on Willow Street. You were practically measuring the porch for pumpkins.”
He did like the porch. And the kitchen.
And the fact that it’s walking distance to both Karla’s and the station. Jack offered him a job, and while he’s always going to be Kael’s man, he’ll be Kael’s man from a distance. It’ll be nice for him to have a purpose that isn’t linked to the mob, even if that purpose is somewhat…at odds…with it.
“And we’re keeping your apartment?” he asks, like he still can’t quite believe I’m serious about staying.
“For now,” I say. “Jack said it might be good for a rental for the new department psychologist until she finds a place, and I agree.’”
Bran nods. “True enough. Is he still whinin’ about that whole thing?” he asks.
“Oh, absolutely,” I say. “Apparently she starts next week. Board-certified, trauma specialist, big-city credentials. His administration is vibrating with excitement. Him, not so much.”
“Jack’s vibratin’ with dread,” he says.
“Yes,” I agree. “It’s delightful.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes, our gazes turned toward the fields and the sun beginning to set over the patches of snow on the grass.
“There’s still so much to be…fixed. Do you think we’re allowed to be happy in the middle of all this?” I ask, quietly.
He doesn’t answer right away. He turns me in his arms instead, so I’m facing him, my hands resting on his chest, and looks down at me, blue-gray eyes serious.
“I don’t think happiness is something you’re allowed,” he says. “Like a permit. I think it’s something you steal when you can and build when you can’t. And I think you, Tally-girl, are overdue.”
Saoirse shrieks from the yard, delighted.
We both look over.
She’s managed to assemble a lopsided snowman with a crooked grin. Brodie is handing her a carrot nose. Cotton is filming from the porch like this is the most important art installation of the year.
Kael, who has yet to return to Philly, stands on the steps with his hands in his coat pockets, pretending to be unimpressed.
When he catches me looking, he tips his chin up, then mouths,You good?
I nod, and he nods back.
It’s not an apology. Not exactly. It’s…acknowledgment.
We’re all still here.
Bran reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.
For a second, my heart does a weird double-beat. We already had the hospital proposal.
I don’t need a ring to know what we are.
But the little velvet box is still enough to make my breath catch.
