Chapter 39 Selene
THIRTY-NINE
SELENE
I stood barefoot in the kitchen, one of Austin’s shirts hanging off my shoulders, sleeves rolled up past my elbows as I spooned batter into the waffle iron.
The house smelled like cinnamon and browned butter, and the faint hum of something upbeat came from the living room—Austin, humming off-key through a mouthful of coffee.
Winnie was off with her dad for the weekend, with plans for rebuilding the fallen Fae kingdom in the woods behind the school playground. She’d packed two granola bars, a half-empty roll of duct tape, and a hand-drawn map that she insisted Brian take very seriously.
Brian had taken Winnie for his overnight, and I’d watched in awe as Brian and Austin shook hands. It still struck me how easy it could be if I just let things be.
Now it was just the two of us in the morning. Quiet. Easy. Full.
The waffle iron hissed, steam curling into the air as I leaned back against the counter and watched him. He was lounging at the table now, his hair was still a little mussed from sleep, and he hadn’t bothered with shoes—just flannel pants and that worn gray T-shirt I liked a little too much.
He smiled at me like I was the sunrise.
It wasn’t flashy, this life we were building. It didn’t come with guarantees or perfect days, but I’d never felt safer.
Austin had been humming more lately. Sometimes I’d catch him running his hand along the doorway or fixing something he’d already fixed.
Winnie had started asking for double tuck-ins—one from me and one from him.
Then she’d whisper something about how he made the best monster voices and demand he do one more story before lights out.
Somehow, without planning it, we’d slid into something that felt suspiciously like forever.
The waffle iron clicked. I opened it, then glanced up when Austin’s voice drifted across the space between us.
“Hey,” he said.
I turned, catching the light in his eyes, the way his mouth tilted like he was holding back a secret. “Yeah?”
His brows furrowed. “Can I show you something?”
I smirked, bouncing my eyebrows at him. “Is it a sexy something?”
He laughed, low and rough, standing from his chair. “It could be afterward.”
I raised a brow as he crossed the room, took the spatula from my hand, and set it aside. He unplugged the waffle iron, then reached for my coat—the tan one I loved—and held it out.
“No pressure,” he said. “Just something I’ve been working on that I want you to see.”
“Should it wait until after breakfast?” I asked.
He glanced up at me. “I’m too excited.”
The way he said it—soft and sure—sent a flicker of heat low in my stomach. I didn’t know where we were going, but I knew better than to say no to that look on his face.
So I stepped into my coat and followed him out the door.
I walked beside him down our street, hands tucked into the pockets of my coat.
The sky was soft with clouds, pale light stretching long shadows across the sidewalk.
We passed porches still scattered with half-deflated Halloween decorations—grinning ghosts with slumped shoulders, a skeleton reclining in a tipped-over wheelbarrow, and a spiderweb sagging under the weight of actual leaves.
Austin didn’t say where we were going.
He just walked beside me with that quiet smile he wore when something was brewing—half nerves, half hope.
I bumped his shoulder. “So, is this a romantic stroll or the long, winding lead-up to a murder in the woods?”
His mouth curved. “Would I lure you into the woods in broad daylight?”
I chuckled. “Yes. And you’d probably pack me snacks to keep me calm.”
“I’m thoughtful that way,” he said, nudging me with his elbow.
“You’d carry my body out gently and call the coroner yourself. Gentleman serial killer vibes.”
“Now I know where Winnie gets it.” Austin glanced at me sideways, laughing. “You’re so weird.”
“I’m just saying. If I go missing, everyone will say you were charming but suspiciously handy with power tools.” I poked his side.
He shook his head, smile twitching, and pulled me under his arm.
We turned onto a smaller side street that edged toward the back of the neighborhood.
The houses thinned out, newer construction sprouting between wooded patches.
Gravel crunched under our boots as we veered off the sidewalk toward a lot nestled in a quiet cul-de-sac.
The structure in front of us looked familiar, though I couldn’t place why at first. Two stories, dark-blue siding with creamy trim. Still half finished—some landscaping undone, the porch railings unpainted. The windows were in, but there was no mailbox yet. A blank canvas.
I tilted my head. “I’ve seen this house before on one of my walks. It was one of Wes’s projects.”
Austin didn’t respond immediately. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a key, running his fingers along the metal.
“Yeah, well . . .” he said. “It’s my project now.”
I blinked. “Wait—what?”
He didn’t look at me right away. Just stared at the house with a strange mix of reverence and nerves. “I talked to Wes and he agreed to sell it to me. I’ll be working on a few things inside whenever I get the chance.”
I stopped walking. “You’re buying it?”
He nodded.
I frowned. “So you’re moving out of the duplex?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Well . . . I was kind of hoping the two of you would want to move out too.”
I turned to look at him fully. Austin’s eyes were steady, but his voice had gone tentative. Careful. Like the words were heavier than he expected.
My heart stumbled. “You—wait. What?”
He didn’t try to explain it away, didn’t make a big show of it. He just pulled my hand and stepped up to the porch. The wood creaked faintly beneath our feet as he turned the lock and pushed the door open.
Warm light spilled across the floor from the tall front windows. The inside still smelled faintly of sawdust and lemon cleaner and something else I couldn’t name—something that smelled like possibility.
Like new dreams.
Austin turned to me and, with the gentlest smile, held the door wide. “Come inside.”
I stepped through the doorway, the hinges groaning gently as the door closed behind me.
The house wasn’t finished—not yet—but it already felt like it had a soul.
Hardwood floors stretched across the open living space, still dusty in the corners.
The walls were primed but not yet painted, pale like the start of a canvas.
Exposed light bulbs dangled from the ceiling, and in the far corner the makings of a kitchen took shape—cabinets without hardware, counters still waiting to be installed.
But there was light streaming through the windows, and warmth beneath the quiet.
Austin tucked his hands in his jacket pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“I know it’s not done,” he said. “But when I walked through it the first time, I couldn’t stop thinking about the three of us here.
Movie nights in that corner.” He pointed.
“Winnie’s art project explosions all over the kitchen.
You stealing my side of the bed upstairs.
The whole third floor can be converted into a restoration space for you.
Winnie will still go to her same school. It just . . . felt right.”
I turned slowly, taking it all in. The unfinished walls. The wide-open promise of it. “Austin . . .”
He stepped forward, eyes locked on mine. “I can’t promise I’ll never screw up,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “But I can promise I’ll never stop showing up. You and Winnie—you’re it for me. You’re my home.”
My breath caught.
He reached into his jacket again—this time pulling out a small box. His hands didn’t shake, but mine did as I raised them to my mouth.
“Selene,” he said, sinking to one knee on the bare wood floor, “for most of my life, I didn’t know what it meant to feel safe with someone.
To feel chosen. To choose back. But you .
. . you cracked me open. You gave me a reason to try.
I want to build something with you that doesn’t fall apart the second it gets hard. ”
He flipped the box open—inside was a ring that looked like it belonged under moonlight and stars.
The ring had a delicate, vintage setting—an antique-style gold band etched with tiny, imperfect scrollwork, like something pulled from the pages of a forgotten fairy tale.
At its center sat an old European-cut diamond, soft and warm in the light, not flashy but full of quiet fire.
The kind of ring that had history. The kind of ring that had been loved before—and was ready to be loved again.
“I want it all,” he said. “The hard parts, the boring parts, the magic. I want coffee in the mornings and brushing our teeth side by side and putting together furniture and falling asleep with your cold feet against my leg. I want to build a life with you.”
My vision blurred.
“I love you,” he said simply. “And I’d really, really like to marry you.”
Something cracked in me then. The last of the walls I’d been holding up. The ones built out of fear and years of telling myself not to need too much.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, laughing through tears as I cupped his face in my hands.
“I love you too,” I whispered. I had been too scared to say it out loud, but once I did, I had never been more certain of anything else.
Austin exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me in as I kissed him—desperate, real, full of everything I hadn’t known how to say until this moment.
Our kiss was messy, tear-damp, and perfect.
He pressed his forehead to mine, smiling so widely I could feel it against my skin. “So . . . is that a yes?”
I nodded, still breathless. “That’s a hell yes.”
His laugh rumbled through his chest as he wrapped me up, holding me close on the floor of our not-yet-finished home.
We stayed there for a while—just us and the dust and the light—and I didn’t care that the house wasn’t done yet.
It already had everything we needed.