“I think so?” I lean into him. “Usually when people leave, I spiral so hard I file a missing persons report on myself.”
His chest shakes with a silent laugh.
“But right now?” I pause, reading emotional hieroglyphics on his face. “I feel... not like I’m about to emotionally combust. I think that’s called okay?”
He nods like I just discovered fire. “Proud of you.”
“Next up: feelings. Then taxes. Maybe domestic bliss if I don’t burn the cookies.”
“I’ll come back. Every chance I get.”
“I believe you.”
“Good.” He kisses my forehead. “Because I mean it.”
We spend the morning doing normal things. Coffee. Breakfast. Sitting on the couch with our legs tangled together, not talking, just existing in the same space.
I shower. Get dressed. Try not to think about the clock ticking down.
When it’s finally time, I walk him downstairs to his car.
The Blue Door gleams in the morning light. My bakery. My new life.
A life he helped me build.
“So,” he says.
“So.”
We stand there, looking at each other.
“I’m going to call you tonight,” he says. “After I get home. And tomorrow. And the day after that.”
“Every day?”
“Every day I can.”
“That might be a lot of calls.”
“I’m okay with a lot of calls.” He takes my hands. “And I’m going to visit. Every two weeks at minimum. More if I can swing it.”
“Your boss might have opinions about that.”
“My boss can deal.”
I laugh. It comes out watery but real. “Saul.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For everything. For the bakery and the chocolate chips and the blankets and.” My voice cracks. “For seeing me. From the very beginning. For calling me Stevie when I was supposed to be someone else.”
“You’ve always been Stevie to me.” He squeezes my hands. “That’s never going to change. No matter what name is on your paperwork.”
I rise up on my toes and kiss him hard. Not sad. Not desperate. Just a good, cocky, see-you-soon kind of kiss.
The kind that saysyou better call or I will appear in your kitchen and seduce you into a coma.
When I pull back, his eyes are bright.
