“That sounds exhausting.”
“It absolutely will be.”
He pulled me closer. Close enough that I could see the grey in his hair, the lines around his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands.
“I can work with exhausting,” he said. “As long as you keep choosing.”
“Every day,” I promised. “As many times as it takes.”
And then he kissed me.
Not tentative. Not questioning. Certain. Deliberate. The kiss of a man who had decided something and was committing to it completely.
His hands came up to frame my face, gentle and sure. I grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him closer, kissed him back with everything I had—all the fear I’d been carrying and all the courage I’d finally found.
When we pulled apart, we were both breathing hard.
“That was—” I started.
“Yes.”
“I mean, really?—”
“I know.”
We stood there, foreheads touching, his hands still on my face, my fingers twisted in his shirt. Around us, the street was quiet. My phone was silent. No buzzing, no matches, no chaos.
Just us. Just this.
The radio inside the shop crackled to life. Something slow and sweet—not Barry Manilow, but close. The kind of song that was clearly making a point.
“The radio is editorializing,” I said.
“It does that.”
“I think it approves.”
“It has opinions.” He pulled back just enough to look at me. Really look. “Come inside. I’ll make tea.”
“Two sugars?”
“And a splash of milk. Obviously.” He took my hand and led me toward the door. “Fair warning—the shop is a mess. I haven’t been able to focus on anything for two days.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of you.” He said it simply, without accusation. Just fact.
I followed him into the shop—past the grandfather clock, past the cabinet of curiosities, past all the objects that hummed with decades of collected magic. The velvet armchair was still there, positioned near the window where the morning light was best.
He hadn’t moved it. Even when he thought I wasn’t coming back.
“You kept my chair,” I said.
“It’s not your chair. It’s a chair that happens to be where you sit.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It’s absolutely not the same thing.”
