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And behind the counter stood a man I knew well.
A friend I’d let down but had never stopped loving.
He wrapped a doll for a young girl, quick fingers making light work of the brown paper and tape. He hadn’t seen me, and I hoped he didn’t, because watching him had my tired heart swelling with pride. His hair was a messy mane, untamed by the leather tie with which he’d tried to restrain it. Blue chalk or paint stained his sleeve, and a smudge of white paint dashed his chin.
“Thank you, sir,” the little girl said as he handed over the wrapped doll.
“Be kind to it,” he told her. “Else she might come alive and tell your mother all your secrets.”
The girl’s eyes widened, and the mother tutted, then scooted her child away. I laughed and coughed into my hand to hide it, but Devere looked up. He straightened, and for a flicker of a moment, I recalled the doll lying broken and forgotten on the floor, but then his smile bloomed, and the memory dissolved, replaced by this brilliant new one.
There were other customers here, so I couldn’t throw myself across the shop and kiss him breathless. But it was enough, in this moment, to feel the weight of his gaze on me and know it was real. He served several more customers without insulting them, and once the shop was quiet, I approached the counter.
His eyes sparkled with knowing. “Yes?”
“Those clocks.” I nodded toward the wall of clocks. “They must chime all day and night.”
He glanced at them, then back to me. “That is generally what clocks do.”
He knew. He remembered. This wasn’t a dream. It was real. Emotion threatened to overwhelm me. He reached out, took my hand, and squeezed, then leaned in and whispered, “I stole your world because of a kiss, but yours last night made me a new one.”
The kiss I’d given the doll last night? That had done all this?
A woman cleared her throat, eager to buy the bracelet in her hand, and we separated. I moved to the chair by the fireplace and watched him work. He hadn’t lost his sniping tone or slashing wit, but the wonderful toys made up for his frosty customer care.
When he flicked the sign over to CLOSED and bolted the door, I rushed to him, scooped him into my arms, and spun. He laughed, more freely than I’d ever heard, and only stopped when I kissed him again, this time relishing in his soft warmth and restrained passion.
He’d been dead and gone, but he was here now. The hows and the whys didn’t matter. I loved him. And he was here now.
“Careful, or we’ll have the whole town talking,” he grumbled.
We were on full display behind the glass door. “I love you, and I’ll shout it from the rooftop if I must.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise, as I cannot control what happens after.” He caught my hand and placed it against his chest, and there, I felt his heart’sthump-thump.Not a clockwork tick-tock, but a real human heart.
“How?” I whispered.
“You.”
“Me?”
“Love”—he shrugged—“and a little magic.”
I grinned. “But magic doesn’t exist.”
“I think we both know that’s a lie.”
“I don’t care about the how.” I kissed him again and relished how he came to life beneath my mouth and hands, rocking against me, seeking more, like two parts of a magnet unable to stay apart. “I need to love you, to feel you, taste you… God, I need to know this is real.”
“Does it feel real?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is real, as is our love, and that is all that matters.”
I kissed him hard and felt his needful moan rumble through him. His hand thrust into my hair and clutched, as though he feared this moment might be taken. But nobody could take this. Nobody got to choose for us. We were here, together, and we were finally free.
I marched him backward toward the rear of the shop where we wouldn’t be on display. He bumped a precarious display of pretty wooden dolls and the lot tumbled to the floor. His laugh escaped our kiss, and as we gasped apart, he bent down to retrieve the fallen toys. I captured his hips. He straightened, breathed in, and tossed a coy look over his shoulder.
