"And Gus has visiting rights," Gus called from ahead, because of course he heard. "And veto power on any apartment without brick somewhere in the building. I'm shallow that way."
"Granted," Wren said.
Dez kissed her temple. "Okay," he said. "Best plan we've ever had."
"You say best a lot when you're happy."
"I'm practicing honesty."
"Keep practicing."
---
They did not resolve every practicality by nightfall. Life is not a sitcom, and nobody present would have named one even if it were. They did resolve the part that had been quietly breaking them: the refusal to speak. The lease would end. Boxes would be packed in January. Wren would tell her editor yes to Los Angeles with a start date that left room for a long goodbye. Dez would take the Portland call and listen without panic. Gus would finish the semester, finish the play, see where Elena's Thursdays led. The KEEP box would travel with Dez, angel and all. The orange couch would remain downstairs until the coffeehouse itself changed, as places do, and when it did they would mourn it properly and then find another couch to claim.