"It's not too forward," I manage. "Just... unexpected."
"Tyler's talked about you since September. The way he talks..." She glances at me. "I knew it was serious."
We walk in comfortable silence for half a block.
"I'm not going to ask if you love my son," Catherine says finally. "I can see you do. What I want to know is: are you happy?"
"Yes," I say, chest swelling. "Completely."
She pauses outside the bakery window, studying the display. She nods once, decided. "Then that's all I need to know."
The bookshop smells like old paper and dust and something indefinably comforting. Thomas is already inside, having slipped away while we talked. He's at the back counter, pulling books from a special shelf.
"First editions," he says without preamble, setting them gently on the counter. "British Isles herbalism, mostly. Thought you might appreciate these."
I step closer, careful with my touch. The books are beautiful, worn but cared for, illustrations hand-colored in some cases.
"These are incredible."
"They're yours if you want them. Consider it a welcome gift."
"I couldn't?—"
"You could." His smile is gentle. "And you should. They're meant to be used, not collected."
Catherine appears beside me, hand resting briefly on my shoulder. "He's been waiting weeks to give those to you. Don't break his heart by refusing."
We spend the afternoon in the shop, browsing shelves and talking in the comfortable way of people who share interests. The cat, called Austen, apparently, winds between our legs, purring approval.
Maya joins us after an hour, carrying a biology textbook. "Studying," she announces. "Since everyone else gets to have the fun conversation."
"Pull up a chair," Thomas says. "We're discussing the intersection of botanical illustration and medical accuracy in Victorian texts."
"Oh good. My favorite." But she settles in anyway, listening more than contributing, soaking up the easy academic exchange.
At some point I realize Calder and Julian have gravitated toward the history section, speaking quietly about something. Tyler's with his mother near the poetry shelves, her hand on his arm as they talk.
This is what family looks like, I think.
Catherine insists we stay for dinner. The meal is simple, roasted chicken, vegetables from the garden's last harvest, bread from the local bakery. We squeeze around the kitchen table, elbows bumping, passing dishes, talking over each other in the way of people who belong together.
At one point Maya asks Calder about his family, and he answers with more openness than I expected. Julian discusses his research with Thomas, who follows every word. Tyler and his mother have an entire conversation in glances and small gestures.
Catherine watches all of this with satisfaction, then catches my eye across the table.
"You fit," she mouths.
I do, I realize. We all do.
We're putting on coats in the front hallway when Catherine pulls me aside.
"Elowen." Her voice is gentle. "I know we just met. But I want you to know, you're family now. Not just because you're with Tyler, but because of who you are."
My throat tightens.
"If you need anything," she continues. "Advice, support, just someone to talk to, you call me. Day or night. I mean that."
"Thank you."
