Page 128 of Fate, Interrupted

His shoulders ease. “Old habit.”

“Does it ever turn off?”

“No,” he says. “But sometimes that’s a good thing.”

I slip my hand into his.

We move without hurrying, gravel shifting underfoot, the mist curling low around our legs. I lean into him slightly as we walk, my shoulder brushing his arm, and I don’t pull away. His presence stays solid beside me, and everything else steps back a pace.

“So,” I say after a moment. “How long do you think before we look for a space?”

“For your bookstore?”

“Yeah. Not one of those shops that tries to be everything.”

I think about what I see when I picture it. Shelves that go floor to ceiling on the long wall. A counter near the front with room for a lamp and a coffee maker and a small stack of staff picks—my picks, of course, because I will be the staff. A corner with two comfy mismatched chairs, because matched chairs in a bookshop are a red flag. Somewhere people actually want to stay.

He glances at me, and I see it: the recognition.

“You already have the whole thing planned,” he says.

“I have ideas,” I say. “There’s a difference.”

“There really isn’t.”

“Afternoon light. Non-negotiable.”

His voice is easy, like he’s been thinking about this too. “There’s a space on the main street in Paxton. Above the hardware store. Empty for a while now. Good light.”

I give him a hard look. “You’ve already checked it out. Did you look online?”

“I made a few phone calls,” he says.

I laugh and lean into his shoulder. His arm comes around me, and we keep walking.

“I want a life that feels steady,” I say, more quietly now. “Not temporary. Not like we’re waiting for something else to happen. A home that’s ours.”

His hand tightens around mine. “Then that’s what we’ll build,” he says.

“You say that like it’s simple.”

“It is,” he says. “The rest of it isn’t. But that part is.”

I look up at him, trying to read the certainty in his face, trying to understand what he wants to give me and what he’s still holding back.

“I’m happy,” I say.

He slows. Stops. Turns toward me as the mist lands on our jackets, a gleaming spray in the diffused bar light.

For a second, I just look at him. At how his eyes hold mine with absolute confidence.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, and I rise onto my toes and kiss him.

It isn’t rushed. It isn’t uncertain. There’s a warmth to it I don’t question, my hand sliding up along his chest, his settling on my lower back and drawing me in. The world narrows down to only the two of us.

“Still okay with the plan?” I ask.