“And I will absolutely judge your food storage.”
“I’m prepared.”
“And I am not your maid.”
“God no,” he says immediately. “I was thinking more—”
He hesitates.
“Go on.”
“I was thinking,” he says, “you could be my house goblin.”
I laugh hard. I can't help it. It's the kind of laugh that makes my stomach tighten and my voice crack. “Your house goblin?”
“Yes.”
“That sounded better in yourhead, didn’t it?”
“Much better,” he admits. “It was almost charming in there.”
I shift under the duvet, suddenly wide awake. “And you’re okay with all of it? Me. The goblin work. The baby. The chaos.”
“Yes,” he says simply. “It all fits. I like that it fits.”
There’s no drama in his voice. No bravado. Just certainty.
“Alright,” I say softly.
He exhales, long and relieved, like he’s been holding his breath since midnight.
“So that’s a yes.”
“It’s a yes to talking about it in the daylight,” I say. “Like sensible adults.”
“I can do daylight,” he agrees. “I just needed to say it now.”
I smile, warmth spreading in my chest.
“Get some sleep,” I tell him.
“I will,” he says. “Eventually.”
“Goodnight, Geoff.”
“Goodnight, Christa.”
The call ends. The flat falls quiet again.
I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling, heart thudding, mind racing in a completely different direction now.
House goblin.
Ridiculous.
And somehow… perfect.
I roll onto my side, smiling into the pillow.
