Page 27 of The Witch & the Hound
"They're honest. It's easier than adults."
"Adults lie?"
"Adults pretend they're not staring. Kids just ask."
She laughed, the sound bright against the night air. "Fair point."
We were close to the restaurant now. I could see other couples walking up the path, dressed up, holding hands, here for romance and ocean views and whatever promises Friday nights were supposed to hold.
My stomach tightened. Not with nervousness, exactly. With something bigger. Want. Hope. The dangerous kind that made you believe in things like futures and belonging.
Maggie must have felt me tense because she stopped walking. She turned to face me fully, right there on the crowded sidewalk with Halloween chaos swirling around us.
"Hey," she said softly. "You okay?"
I looked at her, really looked. At the freckles scattered across her nose, the curl that had escaped to brush her cheek, the way her eyes caught the light like a sapphire. At the dress that made her look like something out of a dream, and the worried furrow between her brows that was all practical, grounded Maggie.
"Yes," I said. And meant it.
She smiled. "Good. Because I'm starving, and if we don't get to this restaurant soon, I'm going to embarrass us both by eating street vendor hot dogs in this dress."
"That would be a tragedy."
"Devastating," she agreed, eyes dancing.
I offered my arm again. She took it.
And together, we walked the last block to The Captain's Table, past the jack-o'-lanterns and string lights and families and couples and the whole beautiful, messy, complicated mix of humans and others trying to figure out how to share the same streets.
The restaurant sat perched on the cliff edge, windows glowing warm against the darkening sky. Beyond it, the ocean stretched vast and silver under the rising moon.
The hostess, a young woman with pointed ears and careful makeup, smiled when we approached. "Good evening. Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes. Seven o'clock. Under Bram."
She checked her tablet, nodded. "Right this way."
She led us inside, through a dining room full of quiet conversation and the clink of silverware, to a table by the window. The best table. Ocean view, candlelight, linen napkins folded into swans.
I pulled out Maggie's chair. She sat, smoothing her dress, and looked out at the water.
"It's beautiful," she said softly.
I sat across from her, my tail settling carefully around the chair leg. "Yes."
But I wasn't looking at the ocean.
I was looking at her, at the way the candlelight painted her in gold and shadow, at the small smile playing at her lips as she picked up the menu.
At the woman who'd opened her door to me, who'd let me into her kitchen and her bed and her life, who was sitting here with me now in the fanciest restaurant in Seaview, claiming me in front of her entire town.
She looked up, caught me staring. "What?"
"Nothing," I said. "Just... thank you. For being here."
Her expression softened. She reached across the table, fingers finding mine.
"There's nowhere else I’d rather be."
