Page 44 of Midnight Lessons

We move through the house slowly, not touching anything yet. There’s no rush today. We’re only here to grab a few of his belongings—his clothes, some books, and a few keepsakes. The bigger job of sorting and emptying the house will come later. But even this small task seems monumental. It’s a strange, surreal experience—saying goodbye to the past while looking forward to a future finally within our grasp.

Owen stops in the hallway, his gaze lingering on a framed photograph of his parents smiling by the lake. His dad’s arm is slung around his mom’s shoulders, and they’re both laughing, caught in a moment of pure joy. I can see the resemblance to Owen in his father’s easy grin and his mother’s bright eyes.

“They were always happy,” I say gently. “Always together.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “They were.”

We continue upstairs to his old room, and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as we push open the door. It’s like a snapshot of teenage Owen—sports posters on the walls, a worn-out desk cluttered with notebooks, and a shelf filled with dog-eared sci-fi novels. It’s a little dusty, but it’s still him.

“Still looks the same,” I tease, stepping inside. “You sure you don’t want to keep the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling?”

He chuckles softly, and the sound warms me. “Hey, I worked hard on those.”

I glance up, grinning. “I know. I remember you dragging me in here to show off your ‘constellation masterpiece.’ You made me sit on your bed for an hour while you explained the placement of each star.”

A smile tugs at his lips, and for a moment, the sadness in his eyes fades. “I was a real nerd before I turned into a jerk, huh?”

“Ah, but you were the cutest nerd. And you were stillmyjerk,” I counter with a grin, crossing the room to run my fingers over thespines of his old books.

His laughs. “A nerdy jerk.”

“Not anymore. Now you’re my sexy sweetheart.”

His gaze softens as he looks at me. “And you’re my bewitching baker.”

I press my index finger to my lips, pretending to think. “Hmm, now that sounds like a great name for a bakery.”

Owen chuckles as he turns to the small closet by the window and pulls out a few shirts, shoving them haphazardly into a duffel bag. “This is all I need for now,” he mutters, grabbing a couple of paperbacks from the shelf and tossing them into the bag. “We’ll tackle the rest later.”

I nod, understanding. “We’ll take it slow. One step at a time.”

He zips up the bag and stretches. His muscles flex under his shirt, and I can’t help but admire the view. Strong, dependable Owen.

His expression is wistful as he glances around the room. “I used to think I’d never want to let this place go,” he admits quietly. “But now... I justwant a fresh start.”

“With me?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

“With you,” he says softly, his eyes meeting mine with a steady intensity. “Only with you, Low.”

I cross the room to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “We’ll do it together, O. One box, one memory, one goodbye at a time.”

He holds me close, his chin resting on the top of my head. “I’m gonna need you to keep reminding me of that.”

“I will,” I promise, squeezing him tighter. “Every step of the way.”

“Thanks for helping.”

“Are you kidding? This is exciting. I can’t wait to share a toothbrush holder with you.”

I lean into his solid frame, the steady beat of his heart against mine. Our journey hasn’t been easy, misunderstandings, heartbreak, a community turned upside down, but we’ve weathered it together. Everything we’ve been through has led us to this moment, this transition from individualsto partners.

Owen kisses me, a deep, passionate affirmation of our bond. It’s a kiss that speaks of a future filled with shared dreams, whispered secrets, and the promise of endless Halloweens together.

After a few more minutes, we make our way back downstairs. Owen pauses by the mantel again, picking up a small photo of his parents at their anniversary dinner. His thumb traces the edge of the frame, and he lets out a long, slow breath.

“I think I’ll take this one,” he says quietly, tucking the picture carefully into his bag. “For now.”

My chest aches for him, but I keep my voice steady. “Good choice.”

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