“If DC is where you need to be, I’ll go with you.”
My mouth drops open.
“I’ll buy a house in Georgetown. I’ll coordinate media from the East Coast. I don’t care where we live, Sloane, as long as we’re together. You should never have to choose between me and your career. I refuse to put that on you.”
It literally never occurred to me, not once, in all my agonizing about Truckee versus Georgetown, that he would offer to come with me. Ryan never even considered it. No man in my entire life has ever looked at me and said “I’ll rearrange my world for you.”
“Hold on, you’d leave your family?” My voice comes out as a whisper. “Truckee? Everything? To move across the country and live me?”
“Family isn’t a zip code. My family is a phone call and a plane ride away, no matter where I am. But you...” He meets my eyes. “I’m not letting you go.”
I’m openly tearing up now. Right here in the kitchen, in front of Laurie and Dane and Ellie and Garlen and Aldar and Zoe and Loki. And I don’t care.
“Also,” he adds, and there’s a slight smile tugging at his lips now, “if you happened to decide you wanted to stay in Truckee though... there’s a house for sale two doors down from Dane and Laurie. Four bedrooms. Big yard. Mountain views.”
I let out a wet, broken laugh. “Four bedrooms? Did you already contact the real estate agent?”
“I might have.”
“Jonus Irontree. You’ve been house shopping while I was agonizing about whether to stay or go?”
“I like to plan ahead. At the very least it could be our vacation home.”
From the stove, I hear Garlen say, very quietly, “Good. You fixed it.”
Laurie has her hand over her mouth, eyes glistening. Dane wears a small, satisfied smile. Ellie looks teary-eyed at the sink. Even Aldar’s face has gone soft, and I see him glance at his tablet. He’s definitely texting Lucy.
And Zoe looks up from her tablet. “Why is everyone crying?”
“Because they’re happy, baby,” Ellie manages.
I wipe my eyes with one hand, keeping hold of Jonus with the other. “Maybe I don’t want DC as much as I used to,” I tell him. “I really like it here in Truckee and these mountains and Saturday breakfasts and that house with four bedrooms sounds wonderful.”
“You can’t give up your career. You are an amazing journalist and I want to support your work.”
“Thank you,” I whimper. “Thank you for saying that. I sent my article to Melissa this morning which reminded me that I can write from anywhere. I’ll pitch remote work. And if the Times says no, I’ll find another way.”
“You’re sure?”
I squeeze his hands. “I’m sure.”
The tension in the room breaks like a wave. Laurie sweeps over and hugs us both at once, which is a feat considering one of us is a seven-foot orc. Dane clasps Jonus’s shoulder. Ellie wipes her face and comes around the counter to squeeze my arm. Someone mentions champagne. Someone else says it’s too early for champagne. Laurie says it’s never too early for champagne when someone says “I love you” in your kitchen.
The next hour is the happiest I’ve experienced since before Colombia. The household settles into warm, buzzing Saturday energy. Everyone is still here, still lingering. No one wants to leave. Zoe is back on the floor with Loki. Dane and Laurie are on the couch with their coffee. Ellie and I talk about the house two doors down — how many bathrooms, does it have a yard, is the kitchen big enough for orc-sized appliances. Garlen is reading a large textbook with one eye on his family, the way he always does. Aldar is in his armchair.
And Jonus is beside me, his arm around my shoulders, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. He keeps his hand on me at all times — my shoulder, my knee, my hand. As if now that he’s said the words, he can’t stop touching me. I don’t want him to stop.
For the first time in ten days, everyone is simply happy.
I lean my head against Jonus’s shoulder and close my eyes. The kitchen smells like coffee and pancakes and the particular warmth of a house full of people who love each other. Through the window, I can see the mountains, snow-capped and glittering in the late morning sun.
This is where I want to be. Right here. With all of them.
And then Aldar’s tablet makes a sound I’ve never heard before. A sharp, electronic alert that cuts through the warm hum of conversation like a knife.
Everyone stops talking.
Aldar looks at the screen. I watch his face change in real time — warmth draining out, jaw tightening, eyes going hard. The transformation takes less than two seconds and it’s terrifying.
