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My fear lessened slightly.

Hudson looked out at his yard. Family covered most of it. Wolves, bears, children, elders, and Patty trying to stop Trevor from putting marshmallows directly into the fire.

“I used to think privacy meant being alone,” he said. “I wanted a space where no one needed anything from me.”

“That makes sense.”

“But now I want a place where I can choose who shares it.”

His gaze returned to mine. “I choose you.”

My heart stumbled.

Hudson drew his thumb across my knuckles. “You already stay several nights a week. Half your things are here. You reorganized my spice cabinet.”

“Because cumin and cinnamon should never be stored beside each other.”

He nodded. “You also added plants.”

“They improve the air quality.”

“And you’ve made suggestions about curtains.”

“Do you blame me? The current ones are a little too beige.”

Hudson almost smiled, then he became serious again. “I don’t want you to keep leaving.”

I stared at him. The meaning arrived slowly enough that I didn’t trust it at first. “What are you asking?”

“I’m asking whether you want to move in with me.”

Everything around us seemed to recede.

“You want me to live here?”

“Yes.”

“In this house?”

“That is generally what moving in means.” Hudson moved closer. “I want you here. I want your things in the bathroom without pretending they’re temporary. I want your work spread across the office. I want you to complain about the quiet for three nights, then sleep better than you ever do in the city.”

Tears filled my eyes.

He continued. “I want to wake up beside you. I want to come home and know you might be here. I want you to have a key because this belongs to you too.”

I looked toward the cottage. The warm windows. The family moving through the yard. A home hidden among trees, close to people I loved and far from the life I had built around avoiding dependence.

For years, moving in with someone had represented risk. What if they left? What if I failed? What if I became trapped in the same distant patterns my parents lived inside?

Hudson didn’t ask me to promise perfection. Instead, he asked me to share a life.

“I want that,” I said.

His shoulders relaxed. “You do?”

“Yes.”

The answer came easier the second time.