Keefe's POV: Chapter 72, Nightfall, Keeper of the Lost Cities
“Hey, speak for yourself,” Keefe responded to Biana. “I also demand a hug! And public declaration that my gift wins for best gift in the history of the universe!”
Actually, a hug from Foster would be a pretty sick gift from her. Even better than not convincing them to stay behind from Nightfall.
“Uh, Fitz showed me what he got her, and it's pretty hard to top,” Biana warned him.
“Please,” keefe scoffed, ignoring the burning wonder as to what the Fitzster got Foster. He grabbed his present from the pile. He handed it to Foster. “Go on, Foster. Show them who's the Gift Master.”
“It's not a competition,” Foster reminded him as she ripped the wrapping paper off the present and sucked in a breath at the gift.
“Told you,” Keefe said, more proud than smug at the face that Foster was making.
His heart practically skipped at least three beats.
“I…” she was speechless.
He smirked. “Look at that. The Mysterious Miss F. is speechless.”
She looked like she really didn't know what to say. He had drawn her two pictures, one of her, Grady, and Edaline, all close together and looking happy. Normal. As though Foster had always been their daughter, and Grady and Edaline always her parents.
The second picture was of Foster, everyone all around her, happy. Underneath Calla’s panakes tree.
Keefe right next to her…
Keefe knew that Foster had a hard time in the human world, so these pictures were meant to remind her that she was part of a family who loved her, and friends who loved her too.
Some more than others.
The pictures were made to let her know that she belonged here, and she always would. At least to Keefe. And he hoped that she would get the message and believe it, for once.
“Smooth move painting yourself next to her,” Ro said teasingly, looking at the painting.
Keefe shot her a warning look, but said, "Uh, we all know Foster can't bear to be away from me and art is about honesty. That's why I made sure I have the best hair."
"I don't know," Biana argued, "you made mine pretty awesome. I should braid my hair more often."
“Are those runes on the back?” Dex noticed.
Fosters eyes widened as she saw the runes on the back of the paintings. “Hey–I can actually read them.”
Both paintings had the same word, in the Black Swan cipher: Family.
Because thats what Foster felt like.
Family.
“Forkle helped me spell it out with their cipher,” Keefe explained. “Because the Black Swan is part of your family too– but who wants a painting of those weirdos?”
Foster laughed, making his heart do a couple of backflips. When he saw that she was tearing up, he couldn't help but feel a bit smug. Proud. Happy.
Hopeful.
“Fine,” Dex grumbled, glancing around at everyone else, who were all also tearing up. “You really are the Gift Master.”
“Only for some people,” Biana said. “He gave the rest of us mood candy. Again.”
“And,” Keefe said, refusing to take downfall, “you loved every bite of it. Besides, you've seen Foster’s room. She was in desperate need of personal stuff. And she's been bugging me for a drawing, so I kinda had to–”
He got cut off by a blur of blonde hair and brown eyes, flying at him in a tackle hug.
Foster nearly knocked him over with the hug. He attempted to keep them up by flailing his body.
“Don't worry,” Keefe said with little breath he had, part choked off by the tightness of the hug, and part because he was so terribly happy at the situation that breathing didn't matter that much anymore. “Breathing is overrated.”
“It is,” Foster agreed in a small voice. Her arms seemed to tighten ever so slightly around his neck, and Keefe was pretty sure that everyone in the room could feel his pulse go faster. “Those paintings, keefe…” Foster continued. “I still don't know what to say.”
“Um, I thought we agreed you'd be declaring it the Best Gift in the History of the Universe! And feel free to add that it's way better than anything the Fitzster has given you.”
He didn't know what had made him say that last part, but he felt Foster relax a little in his arms when he did.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Keefe pulled her closer, not ever wanting the moment to end and doubtful that he would ever let go of her. “Anytime, Foster.”
The hug probably should've ended there, but neither Keefe nor Foster seemed to what to let go.
And they probably wouldn't have let go if someone hadn't cleared their throat behind them.
