Page 162 of ICED

She shakes her head. “Not even a little.”

“Good,” I say. “Because I finally unpacked my suitcase too.”

She laughs softly. “You did not.”

“It’s metaphorical. Let me have the moment.”

She turns and kisses me, slow and soft. Lila is dancing nearby in a tutu over her shorts, cupcake frosting on her nose, commanding the inflatable unicorn like a war general.

This is our life.

Chaos and cupcakes. Penguins and protection. Love in every crack and corner.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.

MAYA

As the night draws in and the guests begin to drift away, I find myself in the kitchen again, barefoot, humming. Lila’sfallen asleep in Owen’s arms on the couch. The house is full of crumbs and laughter and sticky fingerprints.

And I feel light.

Not empty. Not floating. Just light.

Owen appears in the doorway, smiling, hair mussed, still wearing the gravy-stained apron.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m really okay.”

He comes to stand behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder again.

We look out the window together, at the garden strung with lights, at the table where the cupcakes once sat, at the home we made from all the broken pieces.

“I think we did it,” I whisper.

“We did,” he says. “We’re here.”

And we are.

Together.

Home.