both hands. “I said maybe.”
Ruby frowned. “You said probably maybe.”
“That does sound legally binding,” Lena said.
Ruby grinned and slipped between them, taking Lena’s hand with one of hers and Noah’s with the other.
For a second, the three of them stood linked in the alley behind a repair shop, surrounded by the smell of rain, motor oil, and cinnamon.
Noah looked at the bracelet on Lena’s wrist.
The moon for watching over people.
The key for coming home.
The cracked star for finding your way in the dark.
It had taken eleven years, one brave child, and a box of cinnamon rolls carried into the rain.
But at last, the key had turned.
