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Sometimes the hardest thing to accept is that the life you planned may not be the life waiting for you.

I read the sentence. Then continue.

But unexpected doesn't always mean wrong.

I don't publish it. Not yet. Maybe someday. For now, it stays saved.

A reminder. A marker. A beginning. A knock sounds from the doorway. Rhett.

"You working?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

I glance at the screen.

"Technically."

He smiles.

"You've been staring at the same paragraph for ten minutes."

"I was thinking."

"That sounds dangerous."

I laugh. Actually laugh.

"You should be nicer to the woman who saved your life."

"You should be nicer to the man who fought a monster for you."

"I did help."

"You walked directly toward it."

"That was helping."

"That was terrifying."

I smile.

"You're welcome."

There is a comfort between us now. Not the fragile kind. Not the kind built on adrenaline. Something stronger. Something chosen.

"I need to ask you something."

The shift in his voice makes me look up.

"What?"

"Are you staying?"

The question lands harder than I expect. Because I know what he means. Not just the cottage. Not just Sleepy Hollow. Everything. The life waiting here. The one I never planned.

Outside, the town is already preparing for Halloween. Orange lights. Black decorations.