Chapter 14 #3
Then he nods, something decisive settling into his posture. “I’ll come right back. Let me grab my wife.”
I smile and wave him off as he turns and leaves, watching him disappear around the corner with more purpose in his stride than he had before.
Ezra is at the door when I turn back, standing in the threshold like he never really let me leave in the first place, like he’s been standing guard this entire time.
“You heard,” I say. It’s not a question.
“I heard enough,” he replies calmly, his eyes measured behind his glasses. “I’m not surprised. Knowing what we know about her now.”
“My aunt is trying to sabotage this,” I continue, quieter now, frustration threading into my voice and pulling it tight. “What’s the point of all this if people are too afraid to walk through the door?”
Ezra’s gaze holds mine, his presence quiet and grounding in the way only he can be, like he’s the eye of the storm and everything else is just noise.
“The point,” he says, reaching for my hand and lacing his fingers with mine, the touch deliberate and warm, “is that the door is open.”
I blink, my stomach flips for an entirely different reason with his hand in mine. It’s such a small gesture, casual even, but coming from Ezra it feels monumental. Lucien has definitely opened the floodgates because I want to climb Ezra like a tree, want to wrap myself around him and—
Very inappropriate thoughts to have considering the situation and the room full of people behind him.
“You rebuilt this place,” he continues, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “You brought it back to life. People will come. Fear is loud at first. It rarely lasts.”
I exhale slowly, trying to channel calm, trying to let his certainty ground me the way he intends.
“Maybe you should remind them why they should,” he adds, raising my hand and brushing his lips to the back of it, the gesture so unexpectedly romantic that my brain short-circuits for a solid three seconds.
Yep, I’m a puddle. Ezra. . .Ezra, you’re killing me.
I look past him into the shop, forcing myself to focus.
At the people who did show up, who ignored whatever warnings were given and came anyway.
At the space I renovated and made anew, that I poured weeks of work into.
At everything that almost didn’t happen, everything that would have stayed dead and dormant if I hadn’t learned the truth of who I am and what that means to this town.
I step forward, pulling Ezra behind me as I move back inside, letting the door close with a soft chime.
“Hey,” I call, drawing attention without forcing it, letting my voice carry through the conversations without demanding they stop. “I would like to formally welcome you all to the grand reopening of Thorne Curiosities.”
The room quiets gradually, conversations trailing off as attention shifts toward me, and I feel the weight of every eye in the space.
“I know today might feel. . .uncertain for some of you,” I continue, making sure my voice stays controlled and clear. “I know there are questions about me, about this place, about what it means that I’m here now.”
All eyes are on me and I push the nerves down, deep down where they can’t touch me, letting Ezra ground me with his presence at my back, letting Maceo and Lucien’s steady support wash over me from across the room.
“I get that,” I continue, letting sincerity color my words.
“I’m new to town, relatively speaking. There’s a lot of expectation behind my last name.
This place has been closed for a long time.
A lot has changed. I’ve changed.” I pause, making sure they can see the truth in my face.
“And yeah, I’m still figuring some things out. ”
A small ripple of quiet acknowledgment moves through the room, heads nodding, expressions softening slightly.
“But this shop. . .” I gesture around me, encompassing the shelves and displays, the carefully arranged space, “. . .this place was built to serve this town. To support it. To be part of it. That hasn’t changed, and I promise to continue that legacy.
This is my home now. You’re my community now and this door will always be open. ”
I smile as Toni and Lin begin clapping wildly like the savage women they are, completely unrestrained and enthusiastic. The rest of the room joins them, the sound building and filling the space, and I let all the things my aunt attempted to do wash away from me, let them slide off like water.
I won’t let her ruin this. I won’t let her fear and bitterness poison something good before it even has a chance to take root.
I glance toward the door just as the man from earlier steps fully into the shop, this time with a woman beside him who must be his wife.
There’s no hesitation left in his posture as he takes in the space around him, his gaze moving from shelf to shelf like he’s recalibrating everything he thought he knew, like he’s seeing it with fresh eyes now.
Someone else pauses at the threshold behind him, an older woman with silver hair and curious eyes. Then another small group of women come in shortly after, chatting among themselves, their voices rising to join the hum of conversation already filling the space.
Slowly, steadily, the room fills to capacity.
One person at a time, cautious curiosity giving way to something steadier as they cross the line and stay there, as they touch the displays with tentative fingers, as they speak to one another in low voices that slowly rise into something easier, something familiar, something that sounds like community.
The weight in my chest loosens without permission, unwinding like a fist that’s finally allowed to relax.
I don’t move right away. I don’t rush forward to greet them or fill the space with anything that doesn’t need to be said, with chatter that would feel forced and performative.
I just stand there and watch it happen, drinking in the sight of it.
Watch them choose this place anyway, despite the warnings, despite the fear, despite everything working against this moment.
Behind me, Lucien, Maceo, and Ezra, surround me with their supportive presence, forming a wall of certainty at my back. I grab it with both hands, let it soak into my bones to remind me that I’m not alone in this, that I’ve never been alone, not really.
Sir makes a low, satisfied sound from his perch that only I can hear, a rumbling purr that vibrates through our connection. It’s as close to praise as he will ever get, and I’ll take it.
I let out a slow breath and step forward at last, moving back behind the counter like I belong there, like this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
Because I do. Because I am. Because whatever warning was given, whatever doubt was planted, whatever seeds of fear my aunt tried to sow, didn’t hold. Not completely. Not enough to matter.
The bell chimes again as another person walks in, then another, and this time I don’t watch from a distance with anxiety churning in my gut.
This time, I meet them where they are, with the biggest smile I can muster.
“Welcome,” I say, my voice even and easy and completely, utterly mine. “I’m so glad you’re here.”