I picture it: Stone's deep voice reading epic battles and impossible love stories, humans and orcs gathered to celebrate the books that taught us wonder. My chest aches with want.
"Let's do it. Schedule it for month two, give us time to settle in first."
We work in comfortable rhythm, the kind that comes from years of friendship. Tess tells me about a new client, a sculptor who wants to do public installations. Aunt Rene naps in her chair, snoring softly. Outside, the city moves through its ordinary afternoon, unaware that my small life is rebuilding into something extraordinary.
My phone lights up. Stone, sending a photo of a dozen hand-thrown mugs, each one slightly different. "For the new place. Grandmother Kess insisted."
I save the image, my heart full.
Evening comes gentle. Tess leaves with promises to help move next week. Aunt Rene kisses my cheek and tells me she's proud, which makes me cry into the inventory spreadsheet.
Stone arrives after dark, carrying takeout and wearing paint-stained work clothes.
"What were you painting?"
"Helping Darius fix up his studio. He's starting pottery classes for human students." Stone unpacks containers of fragrant rice and curry. "The program vote opened things up. Everyone's finding ways to participate."
We eat sitting on the floor between half-packed boxes, passing containers back and forth. The bookstore's stripped down to bones now, shelves mostly empty, but it still feels like home.
"Scared?" Stone asks.
"Terrified. Excited. Both."
"Good. That's how you know it matters."
I lean into him, solid and warm and impossibly mine. "We really did it. Changed minds, shifted policy, built something new."
"We did. And we'll keep doing it, every day, in smaller ways that add up to everything."
Outside, the city hums its nighttime song. Inside, we sit among boxes and dreams, two people who found each other across difference and chose to build a world where that difference makes us richer.
It's not a fairy tale ending. It's better.
It's real.
Opening day at Riverside Co-op arrives with April rain and my alarm going off at five in the morning. I lie in bed listening to water tap against the window, Stone's arm heavy across my waist, and let myself feel the full weight of nerves before pushing them aside.
"You awake?" His voice is sleep-rough against my shoulder.
"Panicking quietly so I don't wake you."
"Too late." He pulls me closer, his heat chasing away the pre-dawn chill. "We have four hours. Want to panic productively or stay here?"
"Productively. Definitely productively."
We shower together in my tiny bathroom, steam fogging the mirror while Stone complains about human-sized water pressure. I make coffee while he scrambles eggs with cheese and herbs, this easy domestic rhythm we've fallen into over the past two weeks.
Aunt Rene arrives at six-thirty with pastries from the Portuguese bakery and Tess's girlfriend Maya, who's a graphic designer and volunteered to help with last-minute signage.
"You look terrified," Aunt Rene announces, kissing my cheek. "Good. Means you care."
"Helpful, thanks."
"I'm a giver."
We drive to the co-op in two cars, mine loaded with the last boxes of books, Stone's borrowed van carrying equipment and supplies. The rain's stopped by the time we arrive, leaving everything washed clean and smelling of wet pavement.
The co-op building is an old brick warehouse converted into shared retail space. Our section occupies the southeast corner, tall windows facing the street and a connected kitchen area where Stone will do his cooking demonstrations. Maria helped us paint last week, soft cream walls with dark green trim that makes the space feel grown-up and welcoming.
