Page 41 of The Witch & the Hound
"Just a little cream."
He handed me a mug, and I took a sip. Perfect temperature. Perfect ratio. Perfect.
"How long have you been up?" I asked.
"An hour, maybe. I didn't want to wake you."
"You could've." I leaned against the counter, cradling my mug. "This is nice. Waking up to coffee already made."
"I can do it more often," he offered. "If you want."
There it was again. That careful hope. That question lurking underneath:Can I stay? Can this be real? Can I belong here, with you?
"I'd like that," I said simply.
His expression softened into something that looked like relief.
My phone buzzed on the counter, probably my sister, demanding details about the date. But when I glanced at the screen, I saw multiple notifications. Texts. Social media tags. Messages from people I barely knew.
"What the hell?" I muttered, unlocking my phone.
The first thing I saw was a photo. Bram surrounded by the Mitchell family, all of them hugging him. Below it, a caption:Seaview's barghest hero finds missing girl. Full story at link.
"Oh," I said.
"What?"
I turned the phone to show him. His eyes widened.
"It's everywhere," I said, scrolling through the tags. "The Seaview Gazette. The local news. Someone posted it to that Convergence integration forum. You're trending."
"Trending," he repeated flatly.
I kept reading. The comments were... good. Overwhelmingly good.
This is what community looks like.
Thank you for helping our town!
My kids LOVE the barghest at SuperMart. So glad he's here.
Seaview is lucky to have you.
One comment from Mrs. Kelvin, the salon owner:I'm sorry I didn't welcome you properly before. Thank you for being the kind of neighbor we all needed.
Another from someone I didn't recognize:This is why integration matters. This is why we're better together.
I looked up at Bram. He was staring at the phone like it might bite him.
"Everyone's talking about you," I said.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Read the comments."
He took the phone, scrolling slowly. I watched his expression shift—confusion, then understanding, then something that looked dangerously close to hope.
"They're thanking me," he said quietly.
