And it feels like coming home.
CHAPTER 12
GRATH
Istand near the counter, trying not to take up too much space while the town packs in around us. Someone brought champagne. Someone else brought a cake shaped like a cat. The kitten sits on the espresso machine like a tiny dictator surveying loyal subjects.
Maris weaves through the crowd with practiced ease, accepting congratulations and hugs and offers of help rebuilding what the developer tried to tear down. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair escaping its bun in wild strands. She catches my eye across the room and smiles.
My chest does something stupid. Something warm and tight and permanent.
"Speech!" someone shouts. The crowd picks it up, chanting until Maris raises her hands in surrender.
"Okay, okay." She climbs onto a chair, wobbles, and I move instinctively to steady it. Her hand lands on my shoulder for balance. "Thank you all for coming. And for believing in us. In this place. In what we're trying to build here."
Applause erupts. She waits for it to die down.
"I also want to thank Grath." She looks down at me. "Who broke my doorframe, scared off three delivery drivers, andsomehow convinced a kitten to become the most viral marketing campaign I've ever accidentally launched."
Laughter ripples through the crowd. My face heats.
"He also saved our home. All of our homes. So maybe we forgive him for the doorframe."
More applause. Someone claps me on the back hard enough that I have to brace myself. The goblin courier from my makeshift team starts a chant of my name that I desperately want to stop but also maybe never want to end.
Maris steps down. The crowd shifts, breaking into smaller conversations, and she tugs me toward the back hallway.
"Come here."
I follow. I'd follow her anywhere at this point, which should terrify me but mostly just feels inevitable.
She pulls me into the storeroom and closes the door. The noise from the party muffles to a dull roar.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi."
She's still holding my hand. I peer at our fingers, tangled together, hers small and calloused and perfect.
"I have a proposition," she says. Her thumb brushes across my knuckles, a deliberate gesture that makes my pulse kick up.
My heart lurches hard against my ribs. The word comes out before I can think. "Yes."
She looks up at me, eyebrows raised, mouth quirking at the corner. "You don't even know what it is yet."
I squeeze her hand gently, careful not to crush those small fingers. "Still yes."
She laughs, the sound soft and private. "The rowhouse next door is mine. I bought it years ago when old Mr. Boris moved to live with his daughter. I was going to expand the café eventually, but." She pauses. "I think I'd rather have a neighbor I like."
I look at her. Really look. The hope in her eyes. The careful way she's holding herself, like she's braced for rejection.
"You're offering me a home," I say slowly.
"I'm offering you permanent residency. Rent's negotiable. Repairs are your problem. The kitten gets visiting rights."
"Maris."
"And maybe." She takes a breath. "Maybe we could make it official. Not like, legally official. Just. Us official."
