Page 125 of She’s Worth the Risk

I nod in agreement.

“Here.” Iris hands me a bottle of champagne, grinning. “Congrats on the new place.”

“Thank you,” I say, touched.

Daisy holds out a large rectangle wrapped in paper. “I made a little housewarming gift for you two.”

Zinnia’s hand flies to her chest in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Daisy smiles. “It’s nothing fancy. Just something to make this place feel like yours.”

Zinnia takes the gift from her, unwrapping it carefully. I watch as she reveals a framed photo of the two of us, taken a week ago at Daisy and Weston’s house when we had a games night. We’re on their sofa, Zinnia tucked into my side, her eyes closed as I gaze down at her. I didn’t even realize Daisy had taken the photo, but it makes my breath catch. She captured us so candidly. So in love.

And unlike the old me who couldn’t stand to see his own reflection, let alone put up a photo of himself, I don’t want to look away. The guy in the photo looks happier than ever, and it’s the best reminder not to take a single moment with Zinnia for granted.

“Wow,” she breathes, her eyes shining.

I nod. “This is…” I shake my head, struggling to find the words. “Thank you so much.”

Daisy beams. “I’m glad you like it. I saw you two together and couldn’t resist capturing it.”

There’s another sound at the door, and Poppy and Wyatt let themselves into the foyer. Wyatt’s wearing baby Rose in a carrier on his chest, tattooed arms wrapped protectively around her.

“Hey, guys,” Poppy says, holding up a stack of dishes covered in foil. “I figured you might not want to cook tonight.”

Zinnia looks like she’s about to cry. “You’re all so thoughtful,” she says, hugging the framed picture to her chest.

I take it from her with a smile, setting it safely on the hall table before she can crush it. I’d never considered that it might be a big deal for Zinnia to have a group of friends like this, but during the past month, it’s become clear. By sticking around in New York, she’s not only committing to the city, to me. She’s getting close to a group of women, in a way I suspect she never has. Just one of the many ways she’s made me proud lately.

“You hungry, honey?” I ask her, and she nods.

We lead the group into the kitchen, where I locate the box containing the silverware and plates I brought from my apartment.

“Sorry Kyle and Vi couldn’t make it,” Wes says, passing plates out to everyone. He chuckles knowingly. “They’re still in that sleepless phase where they don’t even know what day it is.”

I give a nod of understanding. I met Violet, Kyle, and little Forest a couple weeks ago, and while they were lovely, they were also exhausted.

“Thank God we’re past that,” Wyatt says, dropping a kiss on sleepy Rose’s forehead.

Poppy gives him a wry smile as she dishes up lasagna. “And yet you’re already talking about wanting another one.”

He laughs, stroking his daughter’s hair gently, but he doesn’t argue.

Something unfamiliar stirs in my chest as I watch them. I spent so long worrying about my unconventional relationship with Zinnia, all the lines we crossed, all the ways we had to hide, that I never let myself think about what our lives could look like beyond that.

But as I’ve gotten to know this group—and all the unusual ways they met—those worries have fallen away. Gazing at Poppy and Wyatt with their daughter, despite their age difference and all their initial obstacles, I want what they have.

A family of my own. Something I’d never even considered before.

I shake the thought off, knowing it’s far too soon to be thinking that. Instead, I focus on popping the cork on the bottle of champagne even though it’s not chilled, and pouring it into coffee mugs because that’s all I can find.

But the others don’t seem to mind.

“To new beginnings,” Zinnia says, clinking her mug to mine, and everyone cheers.

I clear some boxes off the round wooden table Sylvia left in the kitchen. Zinnia asked me if I wanted to change it for something new, but I refused. It’s one of the few things left from her grandmother, scarred from years of use, and it holds memories for Zinnia. That matters to me. It’s not about erasing Sylvia’s presence altogether; it’s about building our new life on the foundation she laid for us.

A few of us settle in at the table, some leaning against the counter among the boxes, talking and laughing as we eat, and my heart feels so full it could burst. I could never have imagined how opening up to Zinnia would allow in so much more, and I couldn’t be more grateful. My fingers itch to grab my sketchbook, to capture the moment, this group gathered in the kitchen, but it’s packed away somewhere upstairs.