It’s a plan with moving parts.
Christa finishes the last crumpet and looks at me expectantly, like she’s waiting for a verdict.
“I’m not saying yes,” I say slowly.
She nods. “Good. I’d worry about you if you did.”
“But I’m not saying no either.”
Her shoulders ease just a fraction.
“I need to think,” I add. “About logistics. And… feelings. And how many boxes are in that room.”
She smiles. “There are always more boxes than you think.”
I huff a quiet laugh.
We sit there for a moment, the flat warm and quiet around us, the idea no longer a whirlwind but something solid, parked between us like a piece of furniture we haven’t decided where to put yet.
It’s a lot.
It feels like possibility, waiting to be handled carefully.
15
My House Goblin
Christa
Ifinish the secondcrumpet and immediately regret nothing.
“Just so you know,” I say, wiping my fingers on a napkin, “I’d still pay you rent.”
Geoff frowns.
“Rent,” I repeat. “Money. Monthly. I’m not moving in as a charity case or an emotionally complicated house plant.”
He blinks at me. Once. Twice. “You’d… pay rent.”
“Yes. I’m planning to give up my reception job. For being a goblin.”
He stares at me like I’ve just confessed to living under a bridge.
“A goblin,” he repeats slowly. “You’ve mentioned goblins several times now and I feel like I’ve missed a meeting.”
I sigh. “Right. Okay. Task-Goblin.”
“That does not help.”
“It’s an app,” I say patiently. “People post tasks. Any kind of task. Admin, inbox clearing, flat-pack furniture,dog walking, waiting in for deliveries, moving house, whatever they don’t want to deal with. And goblins pick the ones they have the skills for.”
He frowns harder. “And you are… one of these goblins.”
“Yes.”
“Actively.”
“Yes.”
