Page 164 of Tiger Me Timbers

Not forgetting. Never forgetting. But healing.

By the time the doors close for the night, the square outside is bathed in soft amber light. Patrols are still in place. The perimeter is still watched.

But it doesn’t feel like fear anymore. It feels like vigilance. Tessa locks the door and turns back toward me.

“You staying?” she asks.

I step closer.

“Yeah,” I say.

There’s no hesitation in it. No calculation. Just certainty. She smiles—slow, real, unguarded in a way that still catches me off balance.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

I glance around the bookstore—the shelves, the tables, the space that somehow became the center of everything without losing what it was. Then back at her.

“My life was smaller before you got here,” I say.

Her expression shifts, something deeper settling in her eyes.

“Quieter,” I add. “Safer. Controlled.”

“And now?” she asks.

I don’t look away.

“Now it’s better.”

That lands between us, solid and unshakable. I don’t say things like that lightly. She knows it. I feel it in the way she steps closer again, closing the last of the distance between us.

Outside, Redwood Crossing settles into night.

Inside, everything I used to keep at a distance is right here. And for once?—

I don’t want distance. I rest my forehead briefly against hers, my voice low, steady, and certain.

“This town,” I say, “and you… I don’t lose either.”

Her hand finds mine, fingers threading through without hesitation.

“You won’t,” she says.

Not a promise. A belief. That’s stronger. I tighten my grip just slightly, grounding it in something real. Redwood Crossing stands. Not untouched. Not unchanged. But stronger for both.

And this time, when I look at the future?—

I don’t see something to guard alone. I see something we’re building together. Something worth every fight it took to keep. Something that isn’t going anywhere.

Neither are we.