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He jolted, nearly knocking the table over. “What makes you think that?”

“Who am I to write about love?” she whispered, voice cracking. “Me, who has never…” She pressed her lips together until they went white. “It all feels like a lie. I’m—I’m alone. In every way. And yet, I’m supposed to be able to write these great romantic tales. I can’t—I can’t look at them. They hurt me,” she confessed.

Wolfe felt a part of himself shatter. “Avery.”

“I have none of it. Sometimes I think I never will. I’m just some—some sad lonely woman writing about a love and a romance I’ll never experience.” She buried her head in her hands. “It’s pathetic.”

The words were horrific. They landed like sandpaper against his skin and he wished more than anything that he was real. That he could hold her, dry her tears, comfort her in all the ways she deserved.

“Avery,” he rasped. “Avery, no.”

“I hurt, Wolfe. I ache for it. God, it makes my teeth hurt.”

He shuffled closer, draping an arm around the back of her chair. She wavered like she wanted to drop her head to his shoulder then thought better of it.

It was unfair. Hideous. Ugly.

He raged against the final barriers between them, digging up every bit of energy he could muster from the world around him.

“You’re not a fraud,” he said slowly, carefully. “You are…you are luminous, Avery. Your laugh. Your eyes. Your smile. You bring light with you wherever you go and just because that love hasn’t found you yet, doesn’t mean it won’t still. There is so much life ahead of you.”

“But I—”

“Don’t,” he hushed. “Please. You’re breaking my heart.”

She sniffled, catching a tear with the back of her hand. “I’m not trying to.”

“I know you aren’t. There is a great love awaiting you, I know it.” The words burned up his throat. “I cannot begin to tell you just how lucky he’ll be to have even a fraction of your heart.”

“Royan,” she murmured.

His name brought a burst of strength to him. He put it all into his hand, lifting it to brush a tear away that clung to her jaw. She went still at the touch. His finger came away wet.

“How—”

“That is the power of you, Avery. You make me real.” She stared at him, eyes sparkling with another round of tears.

He couldn’t bring himself to say the next part—that if he was real, he would drop to his knees. He’d beg to stay with her wherever she went, and not just because she was the one who pulled him from the other side, who bled on his picture and braved a storm to speak to him. Because a heart like hers didn’t come around often and if he were lucky—worthy, deserving—she’d give it to him.

And Christ, would he spend his life protecting it.

“How is it possible you make me real too?” she asked, voice low.

He grinned, hand folding around hers on the table. Her heat was delicious. He wanted to settle into it, drown in it.

“I’ve existed long enough to know it’s better not to ask questions where magic is concerned.” He ran his thumb over hers. “It’s better to simply feel it.”

She nodded, lifting her finger to brush against his. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve never said any of that out loud. I think I needed to.”

“Feel better?”

“I do.” She lifted her head and smiled at him. Had he been alive, he surely would have forgotten how to breathe. “Thank you.”

“Anything,” he promised. “For you, anything at all.”

Avery finished her beer, color returning to her face.

She paid her tab and then they headed back outside. Wolfe bumped the door open a second time and more than one person noticed the door swinging back open on its own but he paid them no mind.