Margaret had brought unsolicited advice and a mysterious jar of something she refused to identify.
“Your wards need refreshing,” she told Cassie, helping herself to cheese. “The southeast corner is getting thin.”
“The southeast corner is fine.”
“The southeast corner let a family of raccoons establish a small civilization in your garden shed last week.”
“Those raccoons were already there. They’re basically tenants at this point.”
“They’ve started organizing. I saw one with a clipboard.”
Luna hopped onto the table, ignored everyone’s protests, and settled directly in the center of the cheese plate. “The raccoons are harmless. They’re running a book club.”
“A book club,” Marcus repeated flatly.
“Romance novels, mostly. They have questionable taste but strong opinions.”
Liam reached around the cat to rescue a piece of brie. “I’m not asking how you know that.”
“Wise choice.”
I watched them all—this strange, impossible family I’d somehow stumbled into. Cassie and Liam, pressed close together, finishing each other’s sentences. Margaret, sharp and knowing, pretending she wasn’t enjoying herself. Luna, judging everyone equally from her throne of cheese. And Marcus beside me, quiet and steady, his hand finding mine under the table like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I could see the threads between them now, if I focused. Golden lines of connection, some bright and strong, others newer and still forming. Cassie and Liam’s thread was a rope—thick and unbreakable, woven from a year of chaos and love and choosing each other over and over again. Margaret’sconnections were different—thinner, more numerous, spreading out to people and places I couldn’t see.
And Marcus and me—our thread was still new. Still growing. But solid. Real. Getting stronger every day.
“You’re doing the thing,” Cassie said, catching my eye. “The seeing thing.”
“Sorry. It’s still hard to turn off.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s interesting.” She tilted her head. “What do you see?”
“That we’re all stuck with each other.” I grinned. “Cosmically speaking.”
“I can think of worse fates,” Liam said. “Though I’d prefer if the cosmic stuckness came with fewer raccoon cults.”
“Book club,” Luna corrected. “They’re very civilized. They have a rating system.”
“Of course they do.”
The evening wound on the way it always did—dishes cleared, wine refilled, conversations overlapping and weaving together. Margaret told stories about Rosalinda that made me wish I’d known my great-aunt. Liam attempted to explain Scottish football to Marcus, who pretended to understand. Cassie and I retreated to the kitchen to “help with dessert,” which really meant gossip while eating ice cream directly from the container.
“So,” she said, handing me a spoon. “How’s domestic bliss?”
“Weird. Good weird.” I dug into the chocolate chip. “We had the L-word conversation this morning.”
“The L-word—” Her eyes went wide. “You said it? Out loud? With your mouth?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“Diane. You’ve been avoiding that word like it was a tax audit. This is huge.”
“It just… slipped out. We were arguing about towels and suddenly I was telling him I loved him.”
“The most romantic setting.”
“Shut up.” But I was smiling. “He said it back. And it didn’t feel scary. It just felt… true.”
