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“I’m improving.”
I kept reading.
A final clause sat above the signature line.
The transfer remained valid regardless of our romantic relationship, mate bond status, living arrangements, or future disagreements. He had no authority to reverse it.
I set the papers down. “You don’t need to give me an entire franchise to apologize.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because you love this place.” His gaze moved across the café, over the scratched tables, pastry case, flower display, and employees pretending they weren’t listening in. “You built a life here before I forced myself into it. I want that returned to you.”
My eyes burned. I hated crying at work. Tears frightened customers almost as much as Lux growling at them, and no one tipped the woman having an emotional collapse near the blenders.
“You’re going to make me cry.”
“I could threaten someone.”
“That won’t help.”
“It helps me feel better.”
I laughed through the pressure in my throat. Lux turned the pen between his fingers before placing it beside the signature line. “You don’t have to sign today.”
“You told me to sign thirty seconds ago.”
“I panicked.”
I picked up the pen and signed my name. The bond warmed between us, a quiet pulse rather than a chain. Lux released a breath through his nose and slid the papers away before caramel reached the legal section.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You own a coffee franchise.”
I stared down at my signature. “I own a coffee franchise.”
“You do.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
“Please avoid the documents.”
I shoved his shoulder. He caught my wrist and kissed my knuckles, careful, slow, asking through every point of contact even after all these months.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
Heat reached my face. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You survived me.”
“You’re right, that belongs on my résumé.”
I stepped closer and fixed his crooked name badge.
“You still owe me three hours.”
His expression went blank. “I gave you the company.”
