Page 90 of Make Out With A Merman

She stops humming.

“You okay?” she asks.

I nod once.

Then glance at her.

“I’ve been thinking…”

Her brow rises.

“Dangerous habit,” she teases.

I smirk. “Yeah, well. I’ve been thinking about… my place. This cabin.”

She eyes me. “You’re not leaving.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not.”

She nods. “Good.”

“But it feels… different now. Big.”

She blinks. “Are you telling me you’re scared of your own furniture?”

“I’m saying,” I cut in, heart thudding like it’s trying to warn me, “I don’t want to sleep in it alone anymore.”

Her breath catches.

I hold her gaze.

“I want you here. With me. Not just sometimes. Not just for the magic storms and half-broken ward lanterns.Always.”

She doesn’t speak.

So I keep going.

“I’m not proposing. Yet. Not tonight. But this” I gesture between us, the cabin, the stars. “This is my home. And it’s yours too, if you want it.”

She stares at me for one long, gorgeous moment.

Then grins like the damn sun just rose behind her eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says.

And when she kisses me, it feels like the start of something we never thought we’d get.

Peace.

Together.

The next morning, I’m hauling a crate of old rope out to the docks when I hear footsteps behind me, heavy, deliberate.

Torack.

The man moves like a myth and talks like a riddle, so when he actually clears his throat and stops right next to me, I brace.

“You staying?” he asks, no preamble.

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