My chest puffed up in pride.
The miniature flowering plant sat in the jar—a bright pink bloom with a touch of yellow at its centre, tiny layers of white gravel stones sitting clean against the darker soil beneath. She held it up to the light, turning it slowly, inspecting it from every angle with the focused delight of someone who appreciated small, considered things.
“The perfect size,” she said, looking around.“Where to put it?”
She wandered off, opening doors without ceremony until she vanished inside one. I edged closer and peered in.
Her bedroom.
I swallowed.
The plant went on her nightstand. I shifted slightly to see further—the tall padded headboard in deep plum, the bedding dark at the top and bursting into teal, pink and purple at the bottom. Vibrant. Layered. Nothing like the colours I would have chosen for anything in my life.
But this was her. A burst of colour I hadn’t known I was missing.
I backed away before she turned.
The last thing I needed was for her to think I was a creep.
But she had something of mine in her bedroom now.
On her nightstand.
That was a concession.
Chapter 36
Nika
My food was simple but delicious—and Conrí eating his meal on the couch was probably the most amusing moment of the night. In the end he had to shift the coffee table entirely to make room for his legs, which he did without complaint and without making it a thing, which I appreciated.
We were both more relaxed than Friday.
“How did you get the meat so tender?” he asked, bypassing the cutlery entirely and lifting the chicken piece with his hand.
Dark meat. Same preference as me.
“I steam cook it first and then roast it at a high heat. Keeps it from drying out. Just garlic and herbs—no butter, no oil.”
The starter had been smoked salmon parcels stuffed with seasoned cream cheese and warm bread, which he’d eaten with considerably more restraint.
“I’ll need to learn how to cook properly,” he mused, swallowing the last of his chicken.
“Why? You have a chef.”
“What if it’s just us?” He paused.“All you’d get is toast or sandwiches. Maybe a steak and a burger if you’re lucky.” Another pause.“Hm. Scrap the burger.”
I shook my head. But something about it lodged quietly in my chest—the casual certainty of just us, offered without performance or preamble. Not many people made an effort with me. My parents. Francis, in her own way. The list was short.
“Did I say something wrong?”
I glanced up.
“You looked a little sad.”
That caught me completely off guard. Finley hadn’t looked up from his games long enough to notice my expression, let alone read it.
“It’s nothing,” I said, clocking that he was almost finished.“I hope you’ve left room for dessert.”
