Chapter 190: She Wanted the Happy Ending Too

Edrik put the remote down without asking her to explain herself. He drew the snack bowl closer, and Dove took a handful while the woman onscreen argued with her roommate.

"If anybody cries over a man in this movie, I’m judging them," she said.

Thorne offered her his shoulder. "You picked it."

"I make questionable choices. You’re both proof." She leaned against him anyway.

For a while they watched without talking. The story was an old comedy, full of problems that could be solved by telling the truth before somebody arrived at the wrong door. Dove remembered finding that kind of plot ridiculous. Tonight she found it comforting that nobody needed to check whether the door would keep out weather, raiders, or an animal nobody understood.

Edrik asked one question about a character’s decision, then went quiet when she told him the character was stupid on purpose. Thorne kept handing her pieces of the snack mix she’d put in a bowl, pretending it wasn’t because he liked her eating from his fingers.

She accepted the arrangement until he offered a raisin. "I trusted you."

"You put them in the bowl."

"I put them in there for you," she said, returning the raisin to his fingers. "I was being thoughtful. Try enjoying it."

Edrik took the raisin and ate it while she watched, which somehow felt more shameless than it had any right to. Dove leaned against him and let the film continue.

Near the end, the heroine returned to a familiar apartment with people waiting inside. Nothing dangerous happened. She put down her bag, complained about the day, and was handed food without anyone making a speech about it.

Dove stopped laughing for a moment. The ache from the opening scene returned. She didn’t even like the apartment in the movie. It was the ease of walking in, the assumption that the people there would make room, that caught her in a place jokes didn’t reach quickly enough.

Thorne felt her stillness. His hand rested over hers without squeezing. Edrik looked down at her, then back at the screen, giving her time to decide whether she wanted the moment noticed.

When the credits began, Dove kept watching the names scroll. "I miss things I used to complain about," she said.

Neither man answered too quickly. That helped.

"Standing in line for coffee. Being annoyed because somebody took too long to pick a sandwich. Knowing the worst part of going outside might be dealing with traffic." She rubbed her thumb against Thorne’s hand. "I can like being here and still miss that."

"You can," he said.

Edrik brushed a loose strand of hair away from her cheek. "You don’t have to hate it here to miss how things were before."

She looked at him, grateful that he hadn’t mistaken missing her old comforts for wanting to leave him. There were things about that old life she still hadn’t told either man. Tonight, she could tell them what she missed without being ready to explain everything else.

Dove leaned into his hand and let the smaller truth be enough. She missed ordinary life. She was also building one here, with a ridiculous amount of effort and two men who noticed when she went quiet.

She told them about one ordinary thing she’d liked: buying a drink she didn’t need just because she’d made it through a shift and wanted something sweet on the way home. The pleasure had lasted ten minutes. She still remembered how good those ten minutes could feel.

"We can do that here," Thorne said, then caught himself. "Not the same way. Something you choose just because you want it."

Dove nodded. "That’s what I liked about tonight. I didn’t have to be useful the whole time."

Edrik looked at the empty snack bowl, then set it aside instead of immediately asking what needed washing. He leaned back and made room against his chest. She went to him, bringing Thorne’s hand with hers until all three of them were tangled comfortably on the bed.

Nobody tried to fix the part she missed. The fan rattled softly, the player went quiet, and for a few minutes she didn’t have to explain herself any better than she already had.

After they put the player away, Thorne asked whether she wanted to watch the second disc another night. Dove said yes before Sprout could offer an entertainment-related suggestion. The system stayed silent, which she chose to accept as personal growth.

They fell asleep close together, with Dove’s hand still tucked beneath Thorne’s and Edrik’s chest warm against her back. Dove woke once when the room grew warm, pushed the light blanket aside, and found Edrik shifting the fan so its air reached her. She kissed his wrist and went back to sleep.

Day Ninety-Eight began with her pond-water wash, breakfast, and practice. She wore ordinary work clothes again, keeping the yellow dress folded where she could find it. She chose household goods, and Sprout offered fitted window-screen kits, four sales for sixty-three normal coins. She checked the sizes rather than assuming one pack would fix every opening in the base.

The kits drew people who wanted air without bugs crawling over their dinner. Dove measured the display frame and sent customers home for their own measurements instead of promising miracles. Thorne used his power on the old metal display bracket, easing its bend until it held the sample straight.

Edrik reinforced it while she demonstrated the fastener, then removed his hand before letting a customer try. Dove made them repeat the ordinary test; a window kit that needed a permanent husband attached wasn’t much of a bargain.

She also sold two bottles from her ordinary stock, completing the optional drinks target without another coin award. Customers asked for more; Dove recorded that demand instead of promising stock she hadn’t set aside.

By afternoon, she had finished the screen-kit goal and stored a sound surplus shelf board offered by the landlord. Sprout marked her Favor target complete while she handled a buyer who insisted she could guess his window size. She suggested bringing the window if the numbers were too difficult, then had to ignore Edrik’s badly hidden laugh.

Iris arrived before closing with an order proposal. Her kitchens wanted regular deliveries now that Dove had larger goods and a useful counter. The quantities sounded profitable. Iris wanted Dove to choose, pack, and deliver each morning’s order. The cabinet couldn’t do that for her, and Dove had days she wanted to spend somewhere other than Iris’s kitchens.

Dove read the page with the movie’s apartment still somewhere in her thoughts. She had wanted an ordinary life, but she hadn’t wanted to build herself another job that owned every hour of it.

She counted the mornings on the page. Every single one belonged to Iris before Dove had even agreed.

"Do you want my supplies, or do you want an employee? Because only one of those is for sale."

Iris pulled up a chair, and Dove kept her hand over the unsigned page. She could use this trade badly. She was still going to say no.