Margot's eyes went wide. "Oh! Yes! A joint rulership! Dec, you must name him something dramatic! Something that encapsulates both terror and adoration! Like... Queen Flopsy the Courageous!"
Billy shook his head slowly. "I'm going to need a coffee before I survive the coronation of Queen Flopsy."
I laughed again, leaning closer to Ryder. The chaos, the ridiculousness, the tiny rabbit—my heart felt too full. Somehow, this absurd little family, with Margot bouncing around like a hyperactive elf and Billy quietly deadpanning, felt... perfect.
Ryder winked at me again, rabbit perched on his shoulder now like a tiny, twitching crown jewel. "See? I told you I could make your mornings interesting."
"Yes," I whispered, giggling. "Very interesting. Completely insane. And... adorable."
Margot clapped her hands. "Hear that, Lord Fluffington? You are adored. Now, let's discuss breakfast. Pancakes or chaos? Why not both?"
Billy groaned. "I've survived decades, Margot. I don't think I'm ready for this level of chaos."
Margot grinned, victorious. "Nonsense. You were born for it, Billy. You just didn't know it yet."
And somehow, in the middle of pancakes, rabbit names, and absolute ridiculousness, I realized: I didn't want this morning to end.
walked into the kitchen and froze for a second—Ryder was standing there, holding a glass filled with a vibrantpurple smoothiethat glimmered slightly in the morning light.
"You made me a smoothie?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He smiled, handing it over. "Yeah. I picked purple."
"Purple?" I tilted my head. "Is there... a reason?"
Ryder leaned on the counter, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Greek mythology. Purple was often linked toDionysus—strength, resilience, rebirth. I figured... it fits."
I laughed softly, taking the glass. "Strength and resilience. I like that. And rebirth?"
He shrugged, looking almost bashful. "Second chances. We could use one of those."
I took a sip, the taste rich and slightly sweet, and felt the warmth spread through me. "That's... thoughtful. I like it."
He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating, then spoke quietly. "You know... it's kind of like the exercise Dr. Klein gave us."
"What do you mean?"
"I... I feel proud of myself sometimes," he admitted. "For working, learning, for... being here with you. But then the voices in my head start mocking me. 'You're not good enough, you'll mess it up,' all that." He shook his head, like he was brushing off ghosts. "And then I remember what she said—pause, name it, be honest. So... I'm confessing it. Even if it sounds silly."
I tilted my head, curious. "Confessing what?"
Ryder took a breath. "Billy offered me a permanent job. Downtown. A store for jewelry. I even have a workshop there to keep working on my pieces. I'm learning so much... gemstones, design, techniques. The world is fascinating, Dec. And I... I think I'm doing something right."
I felt my chest swell. "Ryder... that's incredible. Really. Great job. You should be proud of yourself. That's amazing."
His shoulders relaxed, and a small, genuine smile spread across his face. "Yeah... thank you. Feels... nice to say it out loud."
I lifted my glass toward him. "To strength, resilience, and second chances."
He clinked his glass against mine, eyes shining. "To second chances."
The drive to the shop felt like a small adventure. Billy's car smelled faintly of cedar and old leather, Margot's scarf fluttered from the backseat like some absurd flag, and Ryder sat besideme, fidgeting with his hands the way he always did when he was trying not to look excited.
When we pulled up, I blinked. The storefront was beautiful—large windows catching the late-afternoon sun, gold lettering curling across the glass. It was only a few blocks from the school where I worked. I turned to Ryder. "This is... gorgeous," I whispered.
Ryder's face softened. "Wait until you see inside."
Billy led us in, and I felt like I'd stepped into another world. The shop was airy and warm, gemstones glinting under soft lights. A workbench waited in the corner, tools neatly arranged. It felt alive. It felt like Ryder.
