And still, part of me wondered what would happen if the peace he’d found became bigger than us.
Because healing changes people. It softens them, yes, but it also frees them. And I didn’t know yet if freedom would keep him here—or call him somewhere new.
He caught me watching him and smiled that knowing smile that always seemed to pull me back from the edge of my own thoughts. “You good?”
“I’m good,” I said. And mostly, I was.
Still, when he turned toward the kitchen, I found myself reaching for my red-amethyst pendant, running my thumb along its cool surface—a quiet reminder that grounding doesn’t mean holding on too tight.
Sometimes it just means letting love breathe.
I spentthe morning clearing my studio—burning sage, opening every window wide enough to let the wind move through like breath. The scent of smoke and cedar clung to my skin, curling through the air as I whispered a small thank-you to whatever spirits had carried me this far.
Outside, the world had already shifted. Leaves blushed rust and gold. The creek hummed in the distance, swollen from lastnight’s rain. I could almost feel the season turning—autumn settling into the soil, the kind of quiet that feels like memory.
By late afternoon, I stood at my worktable surrounded by swatches of fabric. Deep bronze. Warm brown. Threads of gold that caught the light like sun on water. Every piece told a story, every texture holding its own small prayer for what was coming.
Behind me, a low voice teased,
“You’re taking this costume thing seriously, huh?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Lennox leaned against the doorframe, easy and unhurried, all lazy confidence and quiet heat. Light brown skin, bronze locs half tied back, those amber eyes fixed on me with that look—half curiosity, half hunger—that never failed to unravel me.
I smiled. “You didn’t think I’d show up half done, did you?”
He pushed off the frame, steps slow, shoulders loose. “You could show up in sweats and still make every head turn.”
I rolled my eyes, but his grin had already cracked something open in me. “This isn’t just a party, babe. It’s Hallow Noir. Gothic elegance. Mystery. We have to show up like the story we’ve lived.”
He tilted his head, amused. “And what story is that?”
I turned fully, brushing my fingers over the bronze fabric. “The one about a man who wandered into the woods looking for a deal… and found a home instead.”
His smile softened. “You think I’m Goldie?”
“I know you are,” I said quietly. “The wanderer who stopped chasing what looked right and found what felt right.”
He closed the space between us, his palms sliding around my waist. “And you?”
I tipped my chin up. “I’m one of the bears who built that home. Warm. Fierce. Unapologetic.”
He studied my face, his breath skimming my lips. “Then I’ll wear whatever you tell me to wear, Naima. As long as I get to walk beside you.”
“Careful,” I whispered, fingers brushing his jaw. “Promises like that stick.”
“I meant it.” His voice dropped low, rough as gravel. “Every way.”
By mid-afternoon,the cabin felt too full of fabric and tension. I needed air.
“Come walk with me,” I said, gathering my shawl.
He followed without a word. We took the narrow path that wound down toward the creek, the one lined with wild mint and cattails. The leaves beneath our feet were damp and fragrant, their scent mixing with earth and distant woodsmoke. Every sound felt amplified—the chatter of birds, the rustle of branches, the steady heartbeat of the water ahead.
The creek spread wide this time of year, lazy and silver beneath the slant of sun. I sat on a flat rock where the moss had dried just enough, pulling my knees up. Lennox spread a wool blanket behind me and sat close, his thigh brushing mine, solid and sure.
He unscrewed the thermos and poured steaming cider into two tin mugs. Cinnamon and clove drifted through the air. “Never thought I’d trade the sound of city buses for this,” he said, watching a leaf drift into the current.
I smiled. “You miss it?”
