Page 132 of Wells

Cera's eyes widen.

"Head instructor?"

"Yeah. You'd design the yoga program, train other instructors, teach classes yourself. It's funded. Thirty hours a week, flexible schedule. You can keep your morning classes down the street if you want."

"Yes."

The word comes out fast, certain, with no hesitation.

Lin grins. "Great. Let's set up a time next week to go over the details."

"Perfect."

Lin excuses himself to handle something near the food table, and I stand there, watching Cera's face as she processes what just happened.

She just agreed to run the heart of this place, the part that was the central part of her dream for a space like this.

I keep my expression neutral because I don't want her see how much this lands on me.

This is hers now, not mine.

I excuse myself to speak with a couple with Argentum. Cera wanders off, but I keep spotting her around the yard.

The crowd thins in slow, natural waves after a few hours.

Kids leave first. A mother pulls her daughter off the swings, and the girl protests but comes anyway. A group of boys circling the basketball hoop gets called over, groaning, and trails the crowd toward the gate.

The noise drops.

I stand near the porch steps, watching it all settle. Lin and Maya stack cups near the food table. Another staff member folds chairs and carries them inside.

The renovated house sits solidly behind me. The kids are gone, but the space is still warm from them. The air smells like grass and late New Orleans summer.

This is the best night I can remember in a long time.

I don't say it out loud or let it become dramatic or heavy. But the truth lands anyway.

The old Wells would never have stood at a microphone or invited a crowd into something he cared about. He would never have let anyone see what mattered to him.

That version of me is gone. Or maybe he's grown. But he's not here anymore.

Across the yard, Cera talks with Lin. She laughs at something he says, and the sound is easy and unguarded. She belongs here already. When things were taking shape, I was sad in a way that she wouldn't see this or get to be a part of it. And it came together anyway.

Lin excuses himself to help Maya with the tables, and Cera walks toward the front, where her bike leans against the railing.

I cross the grass and reach her as she straightens the handlebars.

"Can I drive you home?"

She glances at me, then back at the bike.

"I only live a few blocks over. I can ride, but thank you."

I look past the yard lights. The street beyond the gate is dark. A few streetlamps break the shadows, but it's not enough.

"Can I walk with you, then? I don't want you riding alone at this hour."

The words come out evenly. It's not a command or control, but a request.