The question sits between us. Honest. Necessary.
Am I falling for Stone because he's real? Or because he's exactly the kind of impossible choice I always make when I'm scared of actually being happy?
"I don't know," I admit. "I felt something with you that first night. Something big. But maybe that's just chemistry. Maybe Tess is right and I'm confusing intensity with substance."
Stone looks at his hands. They're scarred, massive, incongruous against the cheap laminate table. I remember those hands on my skin. Gentle despite their size. Learning me like I was something precious.
"When I was young," he says slowly, "my father told me orcs don't do human love. We're practical. We choose mates based on strength, compatibility, shared goals. Love comes after,if it comes at all. But I always wanted the human way. The falling. The madness. The choosing someone because your heart demands it even when your head knows better."
He looks up. Meets my eyes.
"I came here hoping to find that. Hoping maybe humans would let me be foolish in ways orcs don't allow. Then I met you and thought—" He stops. Swallows. "I thought maybe I could have it. The mad, illogical, completely impractical thing poets write about."
My chest aches. "Stone."
"But if you need practical, I understand. Your life is complicated. I make it worse. Evan offers solutions. Stability. Everything you actually need versus what you want in moments that feel big but might just be temporary."
"Is that what you think this is? Temporary?"
"I don't know. You're the one who went to brunch with your ex and came here looking lost."
Fair. Painfully fair.
I reach across the table. Take his hand. It engulfs mine, warm and solid.
"I'm terrified," I say. "Of losing the bookstore. Of proving Tess right. Of falling for you and having it blow up in my face like every other time I've chosen heart over head. But I'm also terrified of walking away from something that feels this real because I'm too scared to trust it."
"What feels real to you?" His voice is soft. Careful.
"You do. This does. Us." I squeeze his fingers. "Even when it's complicated and messy and potentially career-ending. Even when strangers tweet about us and city officials clutch pearls and my best friend warns me I'm repeating patterns. It still feels more true than anything safe Evan's offering."
Stone's expression shifts. Hope mixing with caution.
"But?"
"But I need to figure out if I'm choosing you because you're right or because you're difficult. If that makes sense."
"It does." He turns my hand over. Traces my palm with one careful finger. "I don't want to be your rebellion. Or your mistake. I want to be your choice."
"You are."
"Even if it costs you the grant? The festival? Evan's money?"
I think about Aunt Rene's words. About breaking dishes and slapping biscuits and choosing the real thing even when it's scary.
"I built that bookstore from nothing. Me. Not Evan. Not anyone else. And if I lose it because I chose something true over something safe, at least I'll know I went down fighting for what matters."
"The bookstore matters."
"You matter too."
The words hang there. Simple. Enormous.
Stone shifts his chair closer. Cups my face with both hands. His thumb brushes my cheekbone.
"I want to kiss you. But I need to know you're sure. Because if I kiss you now, I'm not stepping back. I'm fighting for this. For us. Even when it's hard."
My heart hammers. "I'm sure."
