Chapter Thirty
Lorelie
“You can’t be serious,” Gen says.
“What?” I ask, perched on the kitchen counter like a gargoyle, one knee bent, scanning the top shelves.
“You are seriously looking for hidden booze.”
Carefully, I hop down. “You know what I’m like. I could’ve stashed something up there and forgotten. The top shelves might as well be Siberia.”
She raises a brow. I sigh and add, quieter, “And I’m worried Patrick-from-a-year-ago might’ve hidden stuff. I don’t know how to ask without making it sound like I don’t trust his sobriety.”
Gen softens, just a notch. “Okay. That part’s fair.”
“I’ve already checked all the bedrooms, all of downstairs, the kitchen-” I gesture around, “-and God, we have a big house. I still have the yard and the garage left.”
Her face twists. “I hate that garage.”
“Same,” I say. “It’s a graveyard of cardboard and junk I never wanted to deal with.” I turn to her, hopeful. “I’ll give you twenty bucks to clean it.”
She snorts. “I’m not cleaning that shit when I’m moving out. And definitely not for twenty.”
I freeze. “You’re moving out?”
She glances around at the boxes stacked by the wall, the ones Patrick’s been slowly moving in. “Yeah.”
My chest tightens. “Where?”
“Don’t know yet.” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “I’ve actually been meaning to move out for a while. I just didn’t want to leave you.”
“Aww,” I say, smiling despite feeling sad.
“I’ve never lived alone,” she says, suddenly bright. “I’m kind of excited.”
“Terrified excited or excited excited?” I ask.
“Both,” she says. “But mostly excited.”
The front door opens then, and Patrick walks in with Milo chattering nonstop at his side, words tumbling over each other. Patrick pauses when he sees us mid-hug.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I sniff lightly. “She’s moving out.”
Patrick rubs the back of his head. “You don’t have to.”
Gen smiles. “I want to.”
“Okay, Miles,” she says brightly, clapping her hands. Bending down to scoop Agnes out of her playpen, Gen looks at Milo. “Let’s go outside and catch bugs.”
“Yay!” Milo yells, already sprinting back toward the door, Gen close behind him.
The door shuts behind them, leaving the house suddenly quieter.
Patrick steps closer, sliding his arms around my waist. “I’m sorry she’s leaving.”
I rest my head against his chest. “Me too,” I admit. Then, softer, “But I’m glad you’re back.”
He holds me tighter. “Me too.”
His gaze drifts past me to the small stepping stool by the counter. “What were you looking for?”
I bite my tongue. This is the part I don’t know how to say without sounding like I’m accusing him of something.
“I love you,” I say first.
He smiles, his response immediate. “I love you too.”
“Good,” I say, bracing myself. “Remember that when I ask the next part.”
His brow furrows slightly, but he nods. “Okay.”
“Do you have any hidden booze anywhere in the house?” I blurt out, words rushing together. “I trust you, I do, but last time-” I cut myself off, inhaling sharply. “You weren’t you back then and I wanna make sure…”
He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t tense.
Instead, he cups my face gently, thumb brushing my cheek. “Thank you for asking,” he says quietly. “And for trusting me to be honest when I say I already got rid of everything.”
I blink.
“I swear,” he continues. “Theres nothing left.” He leans his forehead against mine. “I promise.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He kisses my hair. “If you need to make sure,” he adds, “I won’t take offense.”
I shake my head, emotion swelling in my chest. Leaning up on my toes, I press a soft kiss to his lips.
“I trust you.”