Page 123 of Cryptic Curse

I’m not going to ask her to marry me.At least not yet.

Fuck.

I can’t believe I’m even thinking in terms of “not yet.”

“But now you’re free to find your own true love,” I finish, raising my glass.

She mirrors my move and we clink our glasses together, sipping the bubbly liquid.Her eyes are shining with unshed tears, but she’s smiling too.It’s a beautiful sight.

“Thank you, Hawk,” she whispers after a while.“For everything.”

I reach across the table and gently sweep a lock of hair off her face.“I’d do anything for you, Daniela.”

She blushes but doesn’t look away.I hold her gaze for a moment longer before pulling away.

“Eat up,” I say, gesturing toward her plate, “before it gets cold.”

We continue eating in comfortable silence.The outside world with all its worries and dangers seems far away in this moment.

When we’re done, Daniela helps me clear the table and load the dishwasher.

“Don’t you have anyone to cook for you?”she asks.

I shrug.“I have a fulltime housekeeper who sometimes cooks.Sometimes I cook myself.It’s easy to throw a juicy cut of Bellamy beef on the grill, and we’re in Texas, so it’s always grilling weather.”

“But your mac and cheese,” she says.“You really take pride in making this.”

I chuckle.“Yes, it’s a guilty pleasure of mine.”

We tidy up the kitchen in silence, but it’s not an awkward silence.It’s peaceful, one of two people whose souls have connected, who don’t need to speak to enjoy each other’s company.

“Come on,” I say after we’ve finished cleaning up.“Let me show you the house.”

We walk through the spacious living area and I point out my favorite pieces of art.Daniela seems genuinely interested, her eyes wide and impressed as she takes in everything.

“The artwork is stunning,” she says.“Where did you find all of it?”

“These are all works by local painters.Whenever there’s an art fair in town, I go to it, try to buy a few originals.Do what I can to support the artists directly.”

She looks over three of the pieces in my living room.She points at the largest.“What’s this one called?”

“That one isNebula in Bloom.Artist’s name is Lyla Tran.”

I watch her from across the room as she steps up to it—close, but not too close, like she’s approaching something alive.Her fingers hover just shy of the resin-sealed surface, where tiny wildflowers are trapped inside the swirling acrylic.The artist herself told me she pressed them fresh—local Texas bluebonnets.They’re embedded right into the paint.She then added gold leaf and layered it with resin until the whole thing looked like a dream drifting through space.

“This looks”—Daniela tilts her head, lips barely parted,—“alive.”

I nod.“That’s what she was going for.A nebula that feels more like a memory than a photograph.”

She doesn’t say anything right away.Just stares at it, the faint shape of a woman curled in the center catching her eye.Most people miss that.But of course Daniela doesn’t.

Then she moves on to an old-school woodcut, black ink on cream paper, mounted in a simple walnut frame.It’s an alternate version of our own night sky.The constellations are all invented.Wolves, stags, owls.Strange little creatures strung across an unfamiliar sky.

“That one is calledStellar Cartography Number Five.The artist, Ezra Lomax, has a whole series, each one based on constellations he’s made up.This one is animals, as you can see.He has one with ships, one with trees.You get the vibe.”

“So the artist just…invented these constellations?”She traces them with her finger.

I nod.“He said he wanted a star map that told stories instead of directions.”