Page 60 of Top Shelf

Two hours later, I’m sitting across from Mr. Halbrook, my new landlord, in a coffee shop two blocks from the Moreno Clinic with lease documents spread between us and a pen in my hand. The holding funds are already where they need to be, lodged properly through the lawyers just as Viktor promised, which means today is about signing.

But when Mr. Halbrook turns the final page toward me and taps the signature line with his pen, my hand hesitates.

“Everything all right, Dr. Grant?” he asks.

“Yes.” I look at the line where my name needs to go, and the room seems to focus around it. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

It’s more than fine—it’s happening. The studio is no longer a folder in my shaking hand or a spreadsheet on my laptop or a series of arguments ready for people who think reformers are trendy equipment for bored housewives. It’s a proper lease, with a key and a room with my name attached to it. A future large enough to scare me because I’ve wanted it for so damn long.

I take a moment to breathe it all in, and then sign before I can overthink myself into paralysis.

Mr. Halbrook smiles, gathers the pages, and says all the expected things. I nod in the right places, and manage to sound like a calm business owner instead of a woman who wants to sprint around the block and possibly cry behind a parked car.

Afterward, on the walk back to work and with the late-morning air on my face, I reach for my phone.

Me: Signed!

Viktor: Good.

Me: That’s it?

Viktor: No.

Viktor: I am proud of you, Heidi. Congratulations

The sidewalk briefly blurs around the edges. I stand there with the signed lease tucked under my arm and people moving past me.

Proud.

It’s such a simple word. People have been proud of me before, usually when there was a result attached. A grade. A degree. Something neat enough to frame. But Viktor telling me he’s proud is acknowledging the dream, the work, and the nerve it took to put my name on the line.

Me: Careful, Karlsson.

Viktor: Why?

Me: That sounded dangerously husband like.

There is a longer pause this time.

Viktor: I can be proud of my wife.

My fingers tighten around the phone. Yes, he is. Technically. And temporarily. Still, the words sit there in black and white, and I can’t stop them from making me feel good.

Me: Go do hockey stuff.

Viktor: Yes, Dr. Grant.

After my day in clinic, the girls meet me at the empty studio. Zoe brings champagne. Lulu brings takeout. Carina brings paper plates and a fully charged phone to video call Nia on.

“This is for the lease,” Zoe says, pouring the champagne into clear plastic cups.

“And the marriage,” Lulu adds, settling on the windowsill.

I shake my head. “It’s not for the marriage.”

Carina smiles into her cup. “It can be a little bit for the marriage.”

“It can be a lot for the lease and a respectful nod toward my temporary husband.”