After a while, when the stall is stocked and the first rush has ebbed, I suggest we take a walk.
“Leave the booth?” Norah asks, surprised.
“For a few minutes,” I say. “We deserve to see the market, too. And you’ve been indoors for a whole week. You need this.”
She looks at Ryker, then Dorian, then nods. “Okay.”
We move through the market together, Norah between us, her arm slipping through mine while Ryker walks close on her other side and Dorian just ahead, glancing back to make sure we are all there.
People notice. Heads turn. Smiles follow. But no one looks shocked. No one whispers. It feels like a small miracle.
Mick waves us over, already pouring spiced eggnog into thick mugs, steam rising fragrant and sweet. He hands one to Norah first.
“On the house,” he says. “You’ve been missed.”
She laughs, cheeks pink, and takes a sip, eyes closing briefly in pleasure. “This is perfect.”
I take my mug, the warmth seeping into my hands, and watch her laugh with Dorian, watch Ryker lean in to say something that makes her grin wider.
The reassurance hits me then, clear and solid. She’s letting people see her with us. She’s not hiding. She’s choosing this in the open.
Snow continues to fall, music drifts from somewhere near the square, and for a moment, everything aligns. Work. Town. People. Her.
It makes sense.
It all makes sense.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dorian
“Doyou mind if we talk business for a bit?” I ask.
Norah looks up from where she’s curled into the corner of the sofa, knees tucked beneath her, Ryker’s blanket pulled up around her shoulders.
Her hair is still a little damp from melted snow, loose around her face in a way that feels painfully intimate after the day we’ve had.
She nods immediately. “Of course.”
Ryker’s living room is warm in that deep, earned way that only comes after hours of cold. The kind of heat that settles into your bones instead of just brushing your skin.
The windows fog slightly from our breath, the world outside muted and white. Cocoa steams in heavy mugs on the table, cinnamon and chocolate hanging thick in the air.
When Ryker invited us back here, I jumped at the chance without hesitation. The market was joyful and loud and full, but it took everything out of me. Out of all of us.
I know we all loved to see all her flowers sell out, but we also needed this.
This feels like the exhale.
I sit forward in the armchair, elbows on my knees, scarf draped over the back like an afterthought.
Ryker leans against the opposite arm of the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, mug cradled in both hands. Jude sits on the floor, back against the coffee table, glasses off and resting beside him.
Norah is the center of the room without trying.
“I wanted to say,” I begin, glancing between them, “the idea you had for the community hall is perfect.”
Ryker hums around a sip of cocoa. “Yeah. It is.”
