I laugh, the words awkward poetry warming me. But real. Protective. Love clicks into place, quick as a lock. Terrifying in its speed. We have lives to reconcile—his program, my chaos. Yet here, in this tiny bed, it feels possible.
"Promise?" I ask.
"With every green inch." He kisses my forehead. Pulls me closer.
5
STONE
Iwake when grey light seeps through her curtains. Lacy sleeps curled against me, hair fanned across my chest. Her breath tickles my collarbone. Warmth floods through me, fierce and protective. I memorize this: her small hand resting on my ribs, the way her mouth softens in sleep.
Moving slow, I extract myself. She stirs, mumbles something. I freeze. She settles back down.
I dress quiet as possible. My boots thud despite my best efforts. In her tiny kitchen, I scribble a note on the back of a receipt.
Gone to find breakfast offerings. Back soon. Your orc.
The city wakes around me. Joggers pass. A bakery exhales cinnamon into the morning air. I find the market district three blocks over, vendors setting up stalls. My target: the flower seller with buckets of blooms.
"Morning, friend." I nod at the elderly woman arranging daisies.
She startles. Recovers. "What can I do for you?"
"Everything." I wave at her entire stock.
Her eyebrows climb. "Everything?"
"Yes. All flowers. Biggest bundle you can make."
She laughs, delighted. "Someone special?"
"The most special." Heat creeps up my neck. I help her gather armfuls. Sunflowers taller than my forearm. Purple wildflowers. Fat pink peonies. White roses. She wraps them in brown paper, the bouquet massive. Unwieldy.
I add two jars of spiced orc jam from my pack. Blackberry-pepper blend I made last week. The labels are hand-drawn, crooked letters spelling "Stone's Preserves."
At Lacy's door, I arrange everything. The flowers tower like a small forest. Jam jars nestle between stems. I add another note on top.
For you. Because you deserve beautiful things. And breakfast that doesn't come from a sad vending machine.
I step back. Admire my work. It's ridiculous. Over the top. Perfect.
The bookstore opens at nine.I arrive at eight-thirty, coffee in each hand. Lacy's already inside, phone pressed to her ear. She spots me through the window. Her smile blazes bright enough to warm my green skin from the outside in.
She waves me in, still talking. "Yes, Aunt Rene. I took your prescription yesterday. No, I won't forget the afternoon dose."
I set the coffees down. Mouthhow is she?
Lacy's expression tightens. She covers the phone. "Better. Tired."
Guilt twists my gut. Lacy carries so much. Financial pressure. Aunt Rene's health. This startup dream balanced on a knife's edge. And now me, crashing into her life like a wrecking ball wrapped in good intentions.
She finishes the call. Turns to me. "The flowers."
"Too much?"
"Completely excessive." She steps close. Rises on tiptoes. Kisses me hard. "I loved them."
Relief rushes through me. I pull her against my body. She fits perfectly, head tucked under my chin. "The jam is experimental. Fair warning."
