Page 51 of Top Shelf

“Oh.” She tilts her head. “Why?”

“They grow at home.” It is too simple an answer, but I do not have time to tell her about the meadow beyond the house with the shades of blue scattered through summer grass, or my grandmother’s hands stripping stems for table arrangements while my sister complained about pollen.

I do not have time to tell her how I think some things get threaded into you so deeply when you’re young that they stay there, so ordinary yet impossible to separate from the word home.

“Alright.” Heidi saves me from having to try. “Who’s your favorite person?”

“Ebba. My grandmother.”

Carina presses both hands against her chest behind us. “Oh my god.”

Heidi shoots her a warning look. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not doing anything! I’m just witnessing.”

Reid slides an arm along the back of Carina’s chair. “You were specifically asked not to make it weird.”

“I’m being incredibly normal given the circumstances.”

The office door opens, and a clerk with silver glasses steps into the hallway with our file against her chest and a kind smile. “Karlsson and Grant?”

Heidi’s hand finds my palm before either of us move. Her warm fingers slip between mine, and she looks down as though she’s surprised at herself. I should let go, be polite and stick to the terms of our contract. But instead, I close my hand around hers, and feel her pulse flutter against my thumb.

The room we enter is small, with two chairs against the wall, a desk, a framed city photograph, and an artificial flower arrangement collecting dust in the corner. The ceremony itself is brief, with the clerk speaking about consent and intention, about entering marriage freely. Heidi’s hand tightens around mine when my turn comes to consent.

“Yes. I do,” I say.

When it’s her turn to answer, she hesitates only long enough to glance at me, then smiles. “Yes. I do.”

The clerk nods. “Congratulations, you may now kiss before we sign.”

I feel Heidi go still before I see it in her face. This kiss is part of the ceremony for some people, a symbol or a punctuation mark before the final commitment on paper. But for us, it’s none of those things, and perhaps that is why my own pulse shifts when I turn toward her.

“Only if you want,” I say quietly.

Her eyes search mine, and whatever she finds there, it makes her fingers flex in mine.

“Okay,” she says with a nod.

I swallow, and let her decide how to do this. She steps in close enough that the faint scent of her perfume reaches me, and I can see the scatter of freckles on her nose. I lift my hand, giving her a moment to move away if she prefers, but when she doesn’t I touch her jaw with my fingertips.

It is meant to be brief, but the sound she makes in her throat when her mouth moves softly against mine hits my body with the force of a puck smashing glass. And when her other hand scrunches into my shirt near my ribs, I try not to react.

I have kissed women before. Many times. In dark corners and loud rooms, with heat and want and no misunderstanding about what came next. But nothing feels clear about this kiss. There is a closed door, a government office, and Heidi Grant’s mouth under mine for three seconds too long.

When she pulls back, her cheeks are pink. Mine may be too, but I am not checking.

“Right.” She laughs with a quick smile, turning toward the clerk. “So now the paperwork?”

We sign where we are shown, with my name first and hers beneath it.

Viktor Anders Karlsson. Heidi Rose Grant.

I expect relief after the signatures. Both of our problems now have a finish line. But I fear now that I have felt her lips on mine, there is a new problem stirring in my chest.

The clerk gathers the documents into a neat stack and glances from Heidi to me with an approving warmth.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Karlsson. You’re officially married.”