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“For showing up. For staying. For being brave.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. “It wasn’t just me.”
“No,” he agrees. “It was us.”
We drive home with soft music playing and silence that doesn’t feel heavy anymore.
When he walks us to the door, he doesn’t rush. He just stands there, Lila snoring softly against his chest, and waits for me to meet his eyes.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Maya.”
“I know. But I want to.”
He smiles.
And then he kisses me and its gentle, sweet and lingering. A promise made in frosting and fairy wings.
And I’m not afraid anymore. Because this, this is real. And I’m ready.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
JACKO
Maya disappears down the hall with Lila asleep in her arms, curls stuck to her forehead and glitter still clinging to her cheeks. She looks like a dream, both of them do. Soft edges in a sharp world.
I quietly make my way to the kitchen, flicking the kettle on mostly for something to do. The place is warm in that lived-in way. Crayons on the table. A tea towel with little foxes on it. A pair of tiny pink wellies by the door.
This isn’t just a flat. It’s a life. One I keep getting glimpses of and want more than I can say.
The kettle starts to rumble, but I don’t move.
Instead, I rest my hands on the counter and close my eyes for a second, just breathing her in. The baby shower was chaos, but Maya handled it like a queen. Even when she didn’t think she belonged, she did. She always does.
“Tea?” comes her voice behind me, it’s quiet and somewhat amused.
I turn and find her in the doorway, barefoot, her dress gone in favour of an oversized jumper that falls to her thighs. Her makeup’s smudged, hair messy. She looks real. And stupidly, achingly beautiful.
“I was going to offer,” I say, gesturing toward the kettle, “but I had a feeling you might be more of a wine girl tonight.”
She crosses the room slowly, eyes never leaving mine. “You’d be correct.”
She pulls a bottle from the fridge and two glasses from the shelf like its muscle memory. As though this is normal.
Like thiscouldbe.
I accept the glass when she hands it over and take a slow sip.
“Lila out for the count?” I ask.
She nods. “Tucked in, snoring like a lumberjack.”
I chuckle. “Wonder where she gets that from.”
Maya gives me a look. “I donotsnore.”
We drift to the sofa, and she curls up in the corner while I sink into the other end. The TV’s off, lights low, city quiet outside the windows.
