Page 233 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“Eventually. Yes. But I get veto power over anything with more than three fountains.”

“Reasonable.”

“And Max gets ground-floor access.”

“Obviously.”

“And I’m bringing the blue chair.”

His expression shifted. “That chair is unsound.”

“The chair has been through a lot.”

“It creaks when no one is sitting in it.”

“It’s expressive.”

“I think it’s haunted.”

“Then it’ll fit right in with your family relics.”

He looked pained. “That was unfair.” Then he laughed. Quietly. Briefly. So real it went straight through me.

I rose on my toes and kissed him.

Below us, Max snored.

Inside, people were still celebrating the relics, the initiative, the official return of things stolen and scattered and mislabeled by people who had assumed possession was the same as belonging.

Out here, under the cool night sky, Rafe’s hand settled warm at my waist, and my locket rested over my heart, holding the two creatures who had ruined my life most thoroughly and improved it beyond repair.

For a long time, I had thought survival meant staying useful enough to be kept.

I had been wrong.

Sometimes love found you because of a thrift store necklace.

Sometimes it arrived in a terrifying suit and demanded it back.

Sometimes it looked like a dog leaning his old bones against your leg, a woman in a dress stepping into a room that finally knew her name, and a dragon learning that making space for someone did not mean sacrifice.

Rafe drew back just enough to look at me. “What are you thinking?”

“That this is a lot.”

“It is.”

“And that I want it.”

His eyes warmed. “Good.”

“Also that Max is definitely getting salmon breath on your shoe.”

Rafe looked down. Max, asleep and shameless, huffed against the polished leather.

“He’s earned it,” Rafe said.

Smiling, I leaned into him and let myself believe in the life opening around us.

Messy, bright, complicated, and ours.