Chapter 25 #3
He comes back hiding something with both hands behind his back.
“Okay, ready? I made you something,” he clarifies.
“What! How did you have time to make me something?”
“Well,” he says ironically, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head to imply the days we spent apart gave him ample time.
I grimace, shrugging my shoulders.
“I was shocked at how much you noticed the birdhouses, so, I thought you might like one of your own.” He spins the object out from behind his back, revealing a small birdhouse, like the ones hanging from the coffee shop ceiling, except this one is color-blocked in pastel pinks, yellows, oranges, and greens.
The disassembled clock parts still adorn the sides.
“All of the birdhouses I’ve ever built remind me of you.
I thought it was time the Little Bird herself had one of her own. ”
“Are you kidding me?” I howl, standing up like the couch is on fire. “Oh my gosh.”
He hands it to me, and I hold it in my hands like it’s made of glass. I admire the delicacy of the detailed door, rounded at the top like my cottage’s front door, with my mouth slightly agape.
“This is beautiful, Declan.” I try to elongate the word to emphasize my weight of feeling, but there aren’t enough words in all of language to describe how special, how seen I feel in this moment.
“And check this out.” He reaches for the birdhouse’s tiny door and opens it. “There’s an actual room inside, and I placed an even smaller room inside it. I have another present for you in there. But you’re not allowed to open it yet.”
“You’re joking.” I squeal, peering inside at the dollhouse-like interior. “When can I open it?”
“I don’t know,” he says with a sardonic grin. “You can’t ever open it technically. You have to break into it with a hammer. But don’t worry. One day, I’ll let you see what’s inside.”
My jaw drops. “How am I supposed to be that patient?” I protest.
He points at me. “That response is exactly why I made it entry by blunt force only.”
I roll my eyes at him playfully and then set the birdhouse down to thank him. I thank him thoroughly. And when the thanking moves to his couch, I pause, remembering something. “Declan, I have a question.”
“Yeah. Anything,” he replies in a husky voice.
“Do you… I don’t know, maybe have a photo of us in your wallet?”
He stills for a second before realization dawns on him. He smirks like he’s been caught. “How’d you know?”
“A little bird at the coffee shop might have told me.”
“That’s strange. I only know one Little Bird at the coffee shop.”
I jolt.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I need you to fire me.”
“Excuse me?” He rears his chin back from beneath me.
“Yeah. I can’t work for you anymore. You’ve been a terrible boss.”
“Fine.” He furrows his brows. “You’re fired.”
“Thank you,” I say, pleased. “Wait, who’s going to help you with renovations now? Should I help you find some—”
“Oh, no. You’re good. I don’t need any help.”
“What do you mean? There was no one doing overtime hours before me?”
“Nope. I made that job up.” He smiles. “For you.”
My head tilts. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah.” He chuckles like it’s obvious. “I was doing the renovations just fine on my own. But you said you needed a job with overtime hours, so I just figured…”
My heart protests in my chest once again. This man.
“Well, thank you, first of all. That was extremely charitable especially considering how unskilled I am with power tools. But also…” I swat his shoulder.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“For being a sneaky, sneaky boss,” I jibe. “But you are a generous sneaky boss. I’ll give you that.”
“I was a sneaky, sneaky boss,” he corrects.
“Right. Well, on the upside, now that I’m not your barista, I can finally finish this romance book.”
“Slacker. You haven’t finished it yet?”
“I’ve been a little busy slinging lattes for you, sir. But I’m nearing the end.”
“Okay. Well, let me help you out. Let’s think of a good ending.”
“What, like, help me think of a line?” I ask.
“Yeah. Every book needs a great last line.”
“Okay, then. Give it to me. What d’you got?” I am fully expecting a horrible idea.
He looks up like he’s pondering. “Oh, okay. What about this. The last line isn’t actually dialogue because they’re too busy snogging. So, there’d be the start of dialogue but then it’s cut off by—”
I tip my head back and cackle. “First, ‘daft’ and now ‘snogging’? Do you have a confession to make about reading strictly British romance books?”
He just grins at me in answer, and I laugh a disbelieving laugh.
“Kissing instead of talking is probably more realistic in real life,” I say, side-eyeing him.
“Trust me. I know,” he replies, with a blinding, heart-clenching, freckle-emphasizing smile.
“But in romance novels it’s nice when they tie everything together.”
“Okay, then. You’re the writer. Show me how it’s done.”
I bite the inside of my cheek in thought. “Oh. Here’s a good example. Like in your letter to me, there was a line you wrote at the end. Do you remember it?”
His mouth parts, closes. “Say it for me.”
I puff out a breathless chuckle. “It was something like, I miss you, Little Bird. If you can find it within yourself to forgive me, fly back to me.”
“And you did.” His eyes soften.
“And I did.”
I see relief flood Declan’s face and my heart keens.
We both forget to think about my romance book’s ending because ours is just beginning.
And I’m here to stay, I will my face to say.
But I think he knows. He pulls me down and wraps his arms around me, tight like he’s imagining when he didn’t have me.
And to think, grief and pride almost kept us apart.
The pride of having to grieve especially.
He moves the hair that’s fallen over my forehead and places a gentle kiss there.
And finally, I don’t think. I just feel the steady beating of his heart beneath his chest.
Being his feels like coming home.