Page 92 of Smoke Signals

Maybe I have since the day he didn’t make it home. The fear has been with me so long it feels practical now. Like a thing I can point at…a cage.

I stare out at the yard and think about Chicago. The way Alaska’s toys spill into every room because there’s nowhere else for them to go. The way I keep making it work, because making it work is what I do.

Then I think about Stellan.

He never asked me to stop being afraid. He never told me to get over Lance, never rolled his eyes when I flinched at sirens, never acted like my fear made me weak or dramatic or difficult. He just kept showing up, over and over, patient and steady and every time I braced for him to pull away, he came closer instead.

He let me be scared and loved me anyway. He said so, to his mother, when he didn't know I could hear.

That realization hits so hard I have to grip the railing tighter.

Because that’s what this is, even if we haven’t said it yet. Love. Not the bright, reckless kind I used to imagine when I was younger and had no idea what any of this would actually cost. This is quieter. Something you choose every day in the middle of dishes, cartoons, panic and soot still clinging to someone’s hair after a bad call.

Love.

I exhale slowly and open my eyes.

Alaska slips outside with fox tucked under one arm and starts running across the yard immediately, little legs pumping hard. Stellan steps onto the porch behind her a minute later and lets the door close softly. He comes to stand beside me without speaking. We watch her together.

“She likes it,” he says after a minute.

“Yeah.”

His hand finds mine where it rests on the railing. He threads our fingers together carefully, like he’s still giving me room to pull away if I need it.

I don’t.

“I know this is a lot,” he says quietly. “And if the answer is no, I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I turn to look at him then.

“You make it hard to say no,” I tell him.

A small smile touches his mouth. “That’s kind of the goal.”

I laugh, soft and shaky.

“Okay,” I say.

He stills, and I can see the exact second he realizes I mean it.

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll move in.”

He stares at me for a second and then his whole face changes. Relief. Joy.

He pulls me into him fast, one arm around my waist, the other bracing at the back of my neck, and kisses me hard enough that I forget how to stand for a second.

When we break apart, I’m breathing hard.

Alaska is at the bottom of the porch steps staring at us like she’s waiting to see if this is good news or just weird grown up behavior.

“We’re gonna live here with Stellan,” I tell her, my voice cracking around the words.

She grins and claps once.

That decides it.