Chapter 14: Chapter 14: My Favorite Day IV.

"Back in his paper palace, an idea was wandering through my mind. His sincerity — that unique discovery that only I knew — made me feel special.

In one fluid motion, I took the seat beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. "You’re not the only one who hides their past with hatred," I agreed, feeling a brief movement before looking up at his beautiful gray-green emeralds. "I haven’t lied to you about myself either."

He hugged me, wrapping his large arm around my waist. "I’m listening."

"Even though I take good care of it and trim it almost every week," I began, touching my hair, "as a girl I was also bullied because of it." I looked at the floor, feeling his feet shift. "I can’t blame it entirely on the color — a big part was my personality. A girl who killed and ate ants is a great target for mockery."

I extended my hand — now I was the one calling for his — accepting my invitation.

"What did they call you?"

Now I was the one stroking his palm, asking for the strength to continue. "White witch, wire hair, ant-eater. I can’t say they were as cruel as yours — rich kids aren’t very good at making up nicknames." I tried to laugh, squeezing his hand. "But still, their rejection hurt. There were days I came to school in a wig because I’d cut my hair with scissors." I paused a moment. "Maybe because of them I hear laughter when I see white..."

He tightened his embrace, pulling me closer. "And was there no one who supported you?"

"My parents were very busy — I saw them once or twice a week. And they always used it to teach me something I didn’t want."

"Like what?"

"Archery and rifle shooting, martial arts, fencing," I listed. "Things I hated. It was my grandmother who I think helped me most — not only did she brush my hair and teach me to take care of it, she also told me stories, taught me to knit, to do crafts. She even gave me this sweater." I held the neckline, pulling it slightly. "She gave it to me when I was three — it was the first time I loved something, even if it was just an object."

"I think we’ve both been through a lot, Ryne," he interrupted. "But I’m glad we both had something to love. Me, this dusty place."

"And me my sweater," I smiled. "I’m glad you see it that way."

We stayed in silence for a moment, with hands intertwined on the table and the pot of flowers in front of us — dragon tongue poking out one side, winter squash the other.

"Do you know what the first thing I thought was when I saw you walk in for the first time?" said Nolan suddenly, without letting go of my hands.

"What?"

"That you were the most serious person who had ever come through that door in the entire history of the café," he answered, with that half-smile. "You walked in on a Thursday afternoon, sat at the bar, ordered an iced coffee you didn’t finish, and spent two hours staring at the door bell."

"That bell was magical to me," I replied. "Imagine seeing a leprechaun counting the coins from his pot. That’s how I felt."

"I know," he answered. "I noticed later. But that day I just thought you were the loneliest person in the world," he said, looking toward the window. "You were playing with your fingers, turning to the window at every moment, looking at everyone who came in with fear."

"And you hired me anyway," I answered, squeezing his hand. "You came out of nowhere with an empty pitcher and said: ’Young lady, we’re about to close — do you need anything else?’"

"I don’t remember how one thing led to another. But I sat down beside you and we started talking about trivial things," he smiled. "I never expected your question: ’Do you like lefse?’" He let out a laugh. "It was the first time I’d ever heard the name of that bread."

"It’s a very common bread in Norway," I replied. "I’ll never forget your face when you looked at the clock and said ’How is it that late already?’ It was so funny — I’d love to see it again."

We both laughed, ending with a hug. "I only remember that you rushed to clean the kitchen and I helped you with the chairs. And the next day I came back — I waited until three to ask you for a job, and you hired me." I blew a strand of hair aside. "I still don’t know why you gave it to me."

"Because lonely people take care of things," he clarified. "People who don’t need anyone to be okay are the ones who best look after what they choose to keep. And that attentive care — like placing the chairs on the marks on the floor — made me realize how much I love you."

I looked at him for a second. "I had that care because of what you said when I asked you why you were cleaning that pitcher for the third time," I said.

"The things that matter deserve that care," he smiled.

"That’s very profound for being the only reason," I answered. "Aren’t you hiding something else from me?"

"Honestly I also thought it would be incredible to have another beautiful waitress by my side all day," he answered. "Since then we’ve had a four-hundred-percent increase in male customers."

"And a twenty-five-percent decrease in female ones," I smiled, looking him in the eyes. "But that’s more honest."

"Both things are true," he shrugged. "They complement each other — they don’t contradict."

"This moment is missing something," I said, standing up slowly, walking toward the windowsill. I picked up the small plant with both hands, checking the soil with one finger. "Do you have any water?" I asked the man at the entrance, who was passing through the aisle at that moment.

He brought me a small watering can without asking anything.

I watered the plant with that same methodology as always: slowly, letting the water reach the roots without drowning them. When I finished I returned it, positioning it toward the window.

"The things that matter deserve that care," I said, almost to myself. "As you said on that first day."

I felt Nolan behind me before I heard him.

"You really took a liking to that phrase," he murmured.

"I learned it from someone," I answered without turning. "From someone very special who deserves that care."

His arms wrapped around my waist. And the sweater, as always, chose that moment to slip off my left shoulder, exposing my collarbone with a punctuality that was no longer coincidence.

Nolan pulled it up. His hand stayed there a second too long — a sign of his need. I turned slowly; we were too close, face to face. His hands began to slide along my sweater, so softly they barely moved it.

"I love it when you do things like that," he said, with his fingers on my back.

We looked directly into each other’s eyes — me seeing his gray-green pupils and he mine, yellow as chamomile. The walls the same color accompanied the moment, making it almost dreamlike.

"Nolan, can I ask you something?" I said, my face slightly flushed.

He smiled again, touching my cheek. "Go ahead — you have my full attention."

I laughed a little, playing along. "We have been kindred souls for many moons now," I improvised, feeling the sweetness and embarrassment of my own words. "Or rather, today we celebrate the day we met," I continued, holding his hand against my cheek. "Not the day we became a couple, but that doesn’t take away its importance."

He frowned slightly, with that expression of his when he processes something before responding.

"What do you mean?"

"That I’m not a girl," I said. "I’m twenty-two years old, Nolan. And sometimes I feel like you treat me as if I’ll break if you get too close."

He stayed quiet for a while before saying, "It’s not that."

"Then what is it?"

He didn’t answer right away.

"It’s that with you I want to do things right," he finally confessed. "And doing things right takes time and space — something I want to respect."

"It’s already taken time," I answered. "And I think it’s been enough."

I threw myself into his arms, curling into his chest. Feeling how his heart accelerated alongside mine. I raised my head, looking into his eyes, drawing close to his lips at the rhythm of our heartbeats.

TunTun TunTun TunTun.

I was so close to his mouth, wanting to immortalize that magical moment — rising on my tiptoes while he lowered his neck.

TunTun TunTun TunTun.

TunTun TunTun TunTun.

And he, by reflex — by that instinct of his to always protect me — turned his head slightly, offering me his cheek.

TunTun TunTun Tun.

TunTun Tun Tun.

I stayed still for a second with my lips against his skin.

I felt small. Not in height. In another way that only Ryne had ever experienced. Like a display figurine that people walk around carefully because they fear the movement of the air alone would be enough to shatter it.

My feet began to give way, pulling me back a step.

"You still see me as a girl," I told him, clenching my fist. "Nolan," I tried to say. "I’m not made of porcelain — you don’t have to treat me as if I were," I said, speaking from the deepest part of my heart. "Don’t be afraid of breaking me. I’ll always be by your side."

"Ryne," he said, understanding very well whose pain this was. He stepped forward, taking my hands. "I love you too — truly," he confessed, but his actions didn’t back it up. "I’ve wanted this too, with you," he said softly. "But I’m not sure if it’s what you want."

"It’s what I really want," I confirmed. "I will always say yes to any of your wishes." I opened my hands. "Never doubt that about me."

Tears began to fall from my eyes. I don’t know why — I didn’t ask for them, but they started to slide. One second. Two.

He took the first step.

TunTun TunTun.

Sliding his hands along my body.

TunTun TunTun TunTun.

Lowering his neck carefully, while I received him with open hands.

TunTun TunTun TunTun.

TunTun TunTun TunTun.

And it was he who gave me my first kiss.

Not on the forehead, not on the cheek. On the lips.

I felt a tingling born from my stomach, trembling through my entire body in an excitement I had never experienced. My face burned, my body blazed — I wanted more, to claim more of him.

He pulled his lips from mine, whispering in my ear. "That was incredible."

While he lifted his hands from my body.

I held his shirt with two fingers, looking into his eyes. "I’m not a girl — I don’t want to stop yet."