Sitting, I pulled the carved snugglethorn from my pocket, tracing the delicate wool Brovish had spent hours perfecting while I slept. My throat felt too tight. I wasn’t sad, but I wasn’t happy either.
Relief fit best.
My mother had left this morning. We’d hugged goodbye in my driveway, both of us careful with the embrace like we were afraid too much pressure might break the fragile connection we’d built. She’d promised to call next week. I’d promised to answer.
Small steps, Brovish had said. The space that must be walked.
We were walking it. That had to be enough for now.
Footsteps approached from behind. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.
“I keep thinking about what you said,” I told Brovish when he stopped beside the bench. “About the driftwhisps recognizing I was loved before I knew it.”
“It’s true.”
“When did you know you loved me?”
Sofia dozed on his shoulder, having relocated from mine at some point.
“The night you delivered Abagail’s twins.” His voice dropped lower, intimate despite the open air around us. “When you looked at me in the cave and told me you weren’t leaving. You were covered in mud and rain, and you’d just helped bring two lives into the world, and you looked at me like—” He stopped, hisjaw working. “Like you’d found something you’d been searching for. That’s when I knew with certainty.”
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, clearing it.
“And before that?” The question came out barely above a whisper.
“Suspicions. Small observations.” He reached out, brushing the carved snugglethorn. “The way you spoke to Cooper during his examination. How Sofia chose you within minutes of meeting you. The driftwhisps. Everything felt more complete when you were near.”
My throat closed off.
I set the carving on the bench and got up, wrapping my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest.
He held me while the sky darkened and stars began to appear. Sofia shifted on his shoulder.
“I’m sad my mother left, but also relieved,” I said. “Is that terrible?”
“It’s honest.”
I tilted my head back to look at him. “We made progress.”
“Significant progress.”
“Small steps.”
“These will last.”
I smiled, and for the first time in days, the expression felt natural instead of forced. The weight I’d been carrying since my mother arrived had lifted.
“Take me home,” I said.
“Our cottage or yours?”
“Ours.” The word felt right. “Always ours.”
He kissed me once, thoroughly, then took my hand.
We walked back through the facility together. Sofia dozed on his shoulder, occasionally peeping when we passed something that required her commentary.
When we reached the cottage door, Brovish stopped, his hand still holding mine.
