I’ve had all this time existing among these people, and never let myselfreallysee them. Names, yes. Habits, maybe. But all at arm’s length. Neighbors, patrons, even the delicatessen owner who knows my lunch order by heart, familiar faces in a life built on distance and disguised as safety.
Until Levi, who set it all on fire, turned it upside down. I glance at him, his grin easy and bright, his fingers still around mine.
I don’t want to keep myself at a distance anymore.
As Levi and I step down from the makeshift stage, tiny trophy in hand, I catch sight of Dominic and Elijah off to the side. They’re in the middle of what can only be described as a domestic squabble, though it’s more theatrical than tense.
“I told you we needed more cumin,” Dominic huffs, arms crossed like he’s presenting evidence in court.
Elijah scoffs, offended. “No, what we needed was to not turn it into a cumin soup. There’s a difference, my love.”
“They don’t appreciate bold flavors here,” Dominic fires back, glaring at the judges like they betrayed him, too.
Elijah waves a dismissive hand. “Sure. Blame the town’s palate. Not the fact that you think ‘just a dash’ means half the jar.”
Levi snickers beside me, leaning in to whisper, “They never place. Obviously.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Shocking.”
Dominic catches us watching and points emphatically. “Oh, look, it’s Team Death. Congrats on your little trophy.”
Levi beams, ignoring his swipe. “Thanks! We’re thinking of starting a soup empire. You’ll get a discount.”
Elijah rolls his eyes, but there’s a grin brewing on his face as he watches his husband muttering something aboutculinary injusticebefore wrapping him in a loving embrace.
It’s…nice. The kind of bickering built over years of choosing each other. The kind that keeps a life warm, and it makes me wonder what it would be like to have that kind of history with someone.
And then Levi’s hand finds mine again.
Maybe I don’t have to wonder that much longer.
After we clean up, we head back across the square to the market. The crowd’s thinner now, the air cooling as the last few shoppers linger over bundles of herbs and the smell of fresh bread. Naomi’s already halfway through packing up the stand, clipboard tucked under her arm and a wide grin of a job well done plastered on her face.
“Told you I’ve got this,” she says, gesturing to the neatly boxed leftover stems and full cash tin.
Levi laughs, helping her collapse the tent poles while I stack the last of the crates in the van in an attempt to be helpful.
“Remind me again why you’re not running things yet?” Levi asks.
“Still figuring that out,” she says, grinning.
Once everything’s loaded, Levi locks up the van, brushing dirt from his hands. I assume now’s when we’ll part ways, but as I reach for my coat, he stops me.
“Where do you think you’re going, mister?” he asks.
“Home?” I reply, as if it’s obvious.
He snorts. “Absolutely not. We got second place, Hayden. That calls for celebration.”
I raise an eyebrow. “For soup?”
“For victory,” he corrects, tugging me toward the door. “And for not burning the gym down.”
“That was a real risk with your technique,” I mutter, but I follow him into the cool night, his hand like fire around mine. This is how it starts. Not with shadows or prophecy. But with laughter, ridiculous soup, and Levi Wilder tugging me gently toward the kind of life I never dared let myself want.
“Franny’s. Drinks are on me.”
Without another thought, I’m smiling again.
