All her childhood, she’d known she was an unwanted invader in her house. Now, she had been made to feel like an essential piece of the whole. She’d never wanted this because she never could have imagined it, but now that she had it, it was everything.

Noelle caught her eye, and they stared at each other, the air crackling between them, while Miriam tried not to look too much like she was desperate for Noelle to be kissing her. Suddenly, she found herself being thrown over Noelle’s shoulder in one lift. She hadn’t even seen Noelle move.

“What are you doing?!” Miriam asked, hanging upside down.

“We need privacy,” Noelle said, as she carried Miriam out toward the carriage house.

“We’ll have food ready for you later!” Mrs. Matthews called.

“Much later!” Noelle called back.

“Where are we going?” Miriam laughed. “It’s cold outside. Also, all the blood is rushing to my head!” As Noelle set her down, she asked, “Wait, where are we?”

The carriage house looked completely new.

“This is the carriage house. It was built with the original house, so it’s probably been here all your life,” Noelle deadpanned.

Miriam stared at her.

“It’s our house,” Noelle told her, “I hope. I set up the front half of the house as a studio and workshop, because it gets better light.”

Miriam clutched Noelle’s hand as she looked around the room. The entire building had been redecorated, with an extensive studio setup ready in the front, including all the equipment she’d had shipped from Charleston and new blank canvases on easels. Baba Yaga and La Llorona were framed and hanging, looking at each other, over the fireplace. In the back of the main floor was an open-plan kitchen with a big farmhouse-style table, a professional KitchenAid mixer, a gas top stove—

“How did you do all this in two weeks? Are you magic?” Miriam was in awe.

“Mr. Matthews is. Do you like it?” Noelle asked, nervously.

Miriam needed a moment to find her voice, overwhelmed by the magnitude of such a gesture both from Noelle and from Ben Matthews, the man who’d shown her what a dad could be.

“I love it, but why?” Miriam asked. “What did I do to deserve this wildly elaborate gift?”

“Remodeling projects are how dykes say I love you,” Noelle said sheepishly.

Miriam swung to look at her. “I know you love me. You said it forty-seven times yesterday alone. I can show you the text log.”