Chapter 15
Maggie
I woke to sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and the smell of coffee.
For a confused moment, I couldn't place why that was strange. Then I remembered: I lived alone. I always made my own coffee.
Except I wasn't alone this morning.
Bram.
I sat up, noting the empty space beside me, the rumpled sheets, the faint indentation in the pillow where his horns had rested.
Downstairs, I heard movement. The clink of mugs. The hiss of my coffee maker.
I grabbed a sweatshirt, ran my fingers through my disaster curls, and padded downstairs.
Bram stood in my kitchen, in his boxer briefs, tail swishing gently as he poured coffee into two mugs. He'd found the good ones, the handmade ceramic I usually saved for special occasions.
"You're awake," he said, turning when he heard my footsteps.
"You made coffee."
"Cream and sugar?"
"Just a little cream."
He handed me a mug, and I took a sip. Perfect temperature. Perfect ratio. Perfect.
"How long have you been up?" I asked.
"An hour, maybe. I didn't want to wake you."
"You could've." I leaned against the counter, cradling my mug. "This is nice. Waking up to coffee already made."
"I can do it more often," he offered. "If you want."
There it was again. That careful hope. That question lurking underneath: Can I stay? Can this be real? Can I belong here, with you?
"I'd like that," I said simply.
His expression softened into something that looked like relief.
My phone buzzed on the counter, probably my sister, demanding details about the date. But when I glanced at the screen, I saw multiple notifications. Texts. Social media tags. Messages from people I barely knew.
"What the hell?" I muttered, unlocking my phone.
The first thing I saw was a photo. Bram surrounded by the Mitchell family, all of them hugging him. Below it, a caption: Seaview's barghest hero finds missing girl. Full story at link.
"Oh," I said.
"What?"
I turned the phone to show him. His eyes widened.
"It's everywhere," I said, scrolling through the tags. "The Seaview Gazette. The local news. Someone posted it to that Convergence integration forum. You're trending."
"Trending," he repeated flatly.
I kept reading. The comments were... good. Overwhelmingly good.
This is what community looks like.
Thank you for helping our town!
My kids LOVE the barghest at SuperMart. So glad he's here.
Seaview is lucky to have you.
One comment from Mrs. Kelvin, the salon owner: I'm sorry I didn't welcome you properly before. Thank you for being the kind of neighbor we all needed.
Another from someone I didn't recognize: This is why integration matters. This is why we're better together.
I looked up at Bram. He was staring at the phone like it might bite him.
"Everyone's talking about you," I said.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Read the comments."
He took the phone, scrolling slowly. I watched his expression shift—confusion, then understanding, then something that looked dangerously close to hope.
"They're thanking me," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"Calling me a hero."
"You are a hero. You saved a little girl."
"I just tracked her. Anyone with a nose could've—"
"Stop," I said gently. "Let them thank you. Let them see you. You've spent a year trying to be invisible, trying to be useful but not noticed. Maybe it's time to let them notice."
He set the phone down, hands braced against the counter. "I don't know how to do that."
"You don't have to know. Just... exist. Be yourself. Let the rest of us catch up."
He looked at me, vulnerable and uncertain and so achingly hopeful it hurt to see. "What if they change their minds?"
"Then we deal with it. Together." I moved closer, setting my mug aside. "But I don't think they will. I think last night changed something. The town saw you help. Saw you care. Saw you be part of the community instead of just existing on the edges."
"Because of you," he said. "You organized the search. You knew what to do."
"Because of both of us," I corrected. "We make a good team."
His hand found mine, cool and steady. "We do."
My phone buzzed again. This time, a text from Sarah Mitchell: Thank you again. Lily keeps asking when she can see the dog man again. Would you both come to dinner next week?
I showed Bram. "Looks like you've made a friend."
"A six-year-old friend who thinks I'm a dog."
"Could be worse."
"Could be better."
"She wants to see you again," I pointed out. "That's better."
He nodded slowly, still processing. "I've never been invited to dinner before. Not by locals."
"First time for everything."
"Should I say yes?"
"Do you want to?"
He thought about it. "Yes. I think I do."
"Then say yes." I squeezed his hand. "Say yes to dinner. Say yes to staying. Say yes to being part of this town instead of just passing through."
"Is that what you want? Me staying?"
I looked at him, at the barghest who'd come to my rescue and rearranged everything, who'd tracked a missing child and kissed me like I mattered, who stood in my kitchen making coffee and asking permission to belong.
"Yes," I said. "That's what I want."
He pulled me close, arms wrapping around me, face buried in my hair. I felt him breathe me in.
"Okay," he whispered. "I'll stay."
"Good."
We stood there in my kitchen, holding each other while the coffee went cold and the morning sun painted everything gold. Outside, Seaview was waking up, shops opening, tourists already crowding Main Street for the Halloween festival's final day, normal life carrying on like it always did.
But inside my house, something had shifted.