Page 114 of Left-Hand Larceny

“You don’t have to,” he says simply. I look up. “You don’t have to have it figured out yet,” he adds. “You’re allowed to take a breath. A break. Space.”

“That sounds irresponsible.”

“That sounds human. Have you ever given yourself that? Ever?”

I huff a laugh. “Why are you so good at this?”

He shrugs. “Because I’m not trying to fix you. Just trying to see you. And because I’ve been there.”

And I feel it.

Like something cracks open in my chest and light leaks in.

I want to cry.

So instead, I say, “I want a dog.”

He grins. “Good start.”

“I want to paint my walls pink and cover them in glitter and stickers and art I actually like.”

“Perfect.”

“I want to travel. I want to take photos. I want to maybe start a blog, or write a book, or chase some completely ridiculous dream just because it makes me happy.”

“You should.”

“I want…” I pause. Swallow. “I want this. You. I want to try.”

His face doesn’t change much. But something in his eyes flickers—like a candle catching.

He crosses the kitchen and stands in front of me.

“Then try with me,” he says.

Just that.

Simple. Steady. Safe.

And I nod.

Because I’m ready.

He bundles me up in borrowed layers—his hoodie over my shirt, a pair of thick socks under his boots that barely fit—and we leash up Howl, who practically vibrates with anticipation. It’s still early, the neighborhood soft with sleep and chilly air.

It’s that hazy pre-dawn, everything coated in a film of gray-blue and even though Ragnar made sure I wouldn’t be cold, I press up against his side as we walk. He lifts his arm and tucks me against his chest, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Howl tugs us along, nose down, tail high. He stops to sniff everything. Twice. At one point, I trip over the untied lace of one of the too-big boots. Ragnar immediately drops to one knee in the slush of melting snow.

“Don’t laugh,” I say.

“I wouldn’t dare.” But his mouth is twitching.

He ties the boot carefully, double-knotting it, fingers stroking my ankle bone before he glances up at me from where he’s kneeling.

“You good?”

“I’ve never been better.”

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