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Timber sighed, pressing his forehead to hers. The patch of skin that was exposed was a bit chilly, so he kissed it, warming her with his lips.
“This still feels like a dream,” he whispered.
Lyra sighed, then scooted her body closer to his, intermingling their legs and weaving them as one. They both closed their eyes, air emitting from their mouths and swirling upward into the ether between them.
“It does, doesn't it?” she murmured back. “It can always feel like that, you know. Not just here in this magical place.”
Timber felt her smile as he crushed her under his mouth. She giggled, and they kissed passionately on the top of the ship, icebergs floating around them like clouds.
He made a point of taking her to various islands along the way, even though he did just want to spend time eternally making love to her, being the cause of the look in her eyes of shocked rapture. The bedroom was their paradise. The curtains were open sometimes, the frosty light from the winter landscape casting itself over their bodies. He wanted her to know, without any doubt, that she would be the only one he would ever crave.
For their final night, they ate dinner outside, tucked between multiple heaters and flickering torches of light. The tangerine flames licked around them, highlighting Lyra’s strong and sharp features. Her lips were the color of coral, vibrating between the flames and the black velvet backdrop of the starry sky.
She wore a heavy cobalt dress, tight-fitting from head to toe. She was like a gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap when they were alone within their own delectable universe.
They ate, and Timber did everything he could to charm her. Her laugh was like music to him, her thoughts intriguing as poetry and art pieces. He asked her to dance as the record player rolled next to two crackling torches, and they swayed until the moon sliced through the black glass of the sea.
“Marigold must miss us,” Lyra whispered against his chest.
There was no better moment in Timber’s entire life. He kissed the top of her head, leaning his cheek into her golden hair.
“She definitely does. And I miss her too.”
Lyra raised her head to him, pinning her chin against his collarbone. There were no words left to be said.
They kissed, breathing in the only essence of oxygen they would ever need.
FORTY-EIGHT
LYRA
Life had settled into a beautiful flow ever since Timber had proposed to Lyra. The fear about the bear council’s disapproval and the perpetual anxiety about being kidnapped again had dissipated like a flickering flame into morsels of glowing embers.
She officially adopted Marigold as her daughter, which really went without saying. Timber helped her get the proper papers set up, and she signed them without hesitation. The three of them had a mutual love for one another.
Lyra wanted to do something special to mark the occasion of Marigold’s adoption, so on a day when Timber was seeing the council, she had purchased a special print that she felt represented their unique love and dynamics.
She presented it to Timber at dinner that night with Marigold’s little feet swinging from the high chair with anticipation.
“What do you think?” Lyra asked.
She had her tongue sticking out between her teeth in a teasing expression as Timber tore through the wrapping paper. He held the frame in his hands, giving her a fake scowl.
“I see you really let the grumpy bear motif go to your head,” he quipped.
Lyra covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped the other around her stomach. She stifled a delighted laugh. He had the starry look in his eyes that she was hoping for, one that walked the line of playfully wanting to devour her.
It soared through her like harp strings being played.
The print she'd made was a replication of the Three Bears storybook rhyme, specially drawn by an artist she’d found on social media. The artist drew the bears with a likeness to the three of them: Lyra, Timber, and Marigold.
Timber smirked, that glisten in his eyes remaining, then lifted the print up for Marigold to see. Her legs jiggled with potent excitement, reaching for the photo with applesauce-stained hands.
“Look, honey, it's us,” Timber said. “It’s you, Daddy, and Mommy!”
The bemused smile on Lyra’s face was washed away by genuine shock. She’d never heard Timber refer to her as Marigold’s mother. She had opened her mouth to say something, she didn’t know what, then received instant whiplash from what came next.
Marigold turned to her in her high chair, smiled broadly like a child much older and aware of the impact of her words, then spoke as clear as a bell.
