“It was about ten years ago,” he began. “I’d just completed a major project—a community center in Burlington. The client wanted me at the opening ceremony.”
“That seems reasonable,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“I’d worked with them remotely,” he continued. “They knew what I was—I’ve never hidden it from clients—but they’d never seen me in person. The project manager convinced me it would be fine. That people were progressive, accepting.”
A knot formed in my stomach. “What happened?”
“What always happens.” His voice was flat. “Shock. Fear. Some tried to hide it, but you can always tell. And then there was this one man—a city council member. He started talking about building codes and safety inspections, demanding to know who had approved a ‘creature’ to design a public building.”
“Rion,” I whispered, horrified.
“I left before it could get worse,” he said. “But the damage was done. The project manager was fired. The building underwent three additional safety inspections before it was allowed to open to the public.”
“That’s awful,” I said, my hand moving in small, soothing circles on his back. “But that was ten years ago, in a different town. Willowbrook is?—”
“No different,” he interrupted. “People are people, Clara. Their fear doesn’t change based on geography.”
“Not everyone is afraid,” I argued. “I’m not afraid.”
He turned to face me, his expression softening as he looked down at me. “No, you’re not. But you’re exceptional.”
The compliment warmed me, but I pressed on. “I’m really not. There are plenty of open-minded people in Willowbrook. Look at Brenda—she practically pushed me towards you.”
“Brenda knows about non-humans,” he pointed out. “She grew up here, in a family that’s aware. That’s different from the average person encountering someone like me for the first time.”
I wanted to argue further, but I could see the toll this conversation was taking on him. The last thing I wanted was to cause him more pain.
“Okay,” I conceded. “No Spring Festival. But we can’t hide forever, Rion. At some point, we have to decide what kind of life we want to build together. And I can’t imagine a future where we’re always looking over our shoulders, always worried about who might see us.”
Something flickered in his eyes—hope, perhaps. “You think about our future?”
The vulnerability in his question made my heart squeeze. “Of course I do. Don’t you?”
“Constantly,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to presume…”
I rose on tiptoe and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Presume away. I’m not going anywhere.”
He gathered me closer, his arms encircling me with careful strength. “Even if it means dealing with people’s prejudice? With complications I can’t protect you from?”
“Even then,” I said firmly. “Though for the record, I don’t need your protection. We face this together or not at all.”
He rested his chin on top of my head, a gesture that had become familiar and comforting. “You’re extraordinarily stubborn, you know that?”
“I prefer to think of it as determined,” I corrected, snuggling closer against his chest.
His chuckle rumbled through me. “Determined, then. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
The casual declaration made my breath catch. He’d said he was falling for me before, but this was different. This was present tense. Certain.
“You love me?” I pulled back slightly to look up at him.
His eyes widened, as if he hadn’t realized what he’d said. Then his expression softened into something so tender it made my chest ache.
“Yes,” he said simply. “I love you, Clara. I think I have since you texted me about your broken ladder and your bullheaded boss.”
Tears pricked at my eyes, happiness welling up so intensely it was almost painful. “I love you too.”
He bent down and kissed me, soft and sweet at first, then with growing hunger. I melted against him, my earlier frustration transforming into a different kind of heat.
