Page 73 of Thor

We stood in silence for a long moment, the magnitude of what we were sharing expanding to fill the space between us.

"Thank you," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "For trusting me with this."

I remained in the doorway, still unable to fully cross the threshold while she was there. As if entering the room with her would make this real in a way I wasn't sure I was ready for. As if the dream might shatter if I tried to grasp it too quickly.

"Not everyone at the club knows," I said. "Just Duke. And I think Tyson has me figured out. If the rest of them found out . . ." I didn't finish the thought. We both knew what was at stake. My reputation. My position. Possibly even my safety.

"Your secret is safe with me," she promised. Her eyes were clear and steady, no judgment in them. Just acceptance.

"And yours with me," I replied.

I stood rooted to the spot, watching as Mandy moved through my secret space with a reverence that made my chest tight. Her fingers trailed across everything—the spines of books, the soft fur of teddy bears, the polished wood of the train set I'd spent weekends restoring. She touched it all like she was reading braille, decoding the secret language of who I really was. Her copper hair caught the amber light as she moved, transforming it into living flame against the soft blues and greens of the room.

"You made this?" she asked, kneeling to examine the train set more closely. The wooden engine gleamed with multiple coats of hand-rubbed finish, each car perfectly detailed.

"Restored it," I corrected. "Found it at an estate sale. Some kid had loved it hard, then grown up and forgotten it in an attic." My voice roughened. "Took me six months of weekends."

She ran her finger along the track. "It's beautiful."

She picked up a coloring book from the shelf—one with intricate mandala patterns—and flipped through it. "Brand new," she murmured.

"Everything is." The admission felt heavy. I'd created this perfect space but never used it. Never allowed myself to fully inhabit it.

She returned the book to its exact position, then moved to the quilt draped over the reading chair. Her fingers traced the intricate pattern of stars and moons that matched the rug. "This is handmade."

"Found it damaged at a thrift store. Spent months repairing it." I didn't add that I'd done the work late at night, with a beer at my elbow and old records playing, when I was sure no one would call or drop by.

She turned to me, and I saw tears glistening in her eyes. "Thor . . ." She took a deep breath. "Do you know how extraordinary this is?"

I shifted uncomfortably, still in the doorway. "It's just stuff."

"No." She shook her head firmly. "It's not just stuff. It's a dream you've been building. Waiting." Her voice caught. "This is a whole world you've created."

The air between us felt charged with an electricity I couldn't name—not quite sexual, but intimate in a way that stripped me even more bare. She was seeing years of secret longing made physical in this room.

"I hoped I’d be able share it one day," I admitted. "But as time went on I figured it would just be . . . mine. My weird secret."

"Not weird," she said firmly. "Beautiful."

She crossed to the bookshelf and gently pulled out a well-worn copy of Winnie the Pooh. Unlike the pristine volumes surrounding it, this one showed signs of use. "This one's been read," she observed.

My throat tightened. "It was mine. From when I was a kid. The only thing I kept."

She held it carefully, as if it were made of glass. "Your mom read it to you?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Mandy replaced the book with the same care I would have used, aligning it perfectly with the others. Then she turned to face me, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't name.

"Why are you still standing in the doorway?" she asked softly.

I hadn't realized I was. My body remained frozen at the threshold, one foot in the hallway, one foot in the room. Caught between worlds. "I don't know," I answered honestly.

She moved toward me, her steps deliberate.

God, she was beautiful. Elegant. Perfect. Far too good for an old dog like me.

When she reached me, she didn't touch me immediately. Just looked up into my face, studying me with those clear green eyes that seemed to see everything.

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