31
“Ready to see my apartment?” Liv asks as we’re driving back from Tessa’s house after dropping off two thoroughly exhausted children.
“Yeah.”
“Fair warning, it’s small. Like, really small. Studio apartment small.”
“I don’t care about the size.”
“And it’s not fancy. No granite countertops or walk-in closets or any of the things you’re used to.”
“Liv.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Okay. Just... don’t judge me for my lifestyle choices.”
“What lifestyle choices?”
“You’ll see.”
Her apartment is in a converted building in Silver Lake, and she’s right that it’s small. But as soon as I step inside, I understand why she loves it here.
It’s completely, utterly her.
There are plants everywhere, hanging from the ceiling, sitting on windowsills, trailing down from shelves. The walls are covered with framed photos and artwork that looks like she collected it over years. Candles are scattered on every surface, and the whole place smells like vanilla and flowers.
“It’s perfect,” I say, and I mean it.
“It’s tiny.”
“It’s you.”
She looks around like she’s seeing it through my eyes, and I can tell she’s nervous about what I think.
“The bathroom’s through there if you want to shower,” she says, pointing to a door that’s partially hidden behind a beaded curtain. “I know you’ve been carrying children around all day and probably feel gross.”
“Thanks.”
“Towels are in the cabinet. Use whatever you need.”
The bathroom is as small as advertised, but it’s clean and bright, with more plants and more candles and products that smell like her. I shower quickly, using her shampoo, and when I come out wearing just a towel, I find her sitting on her bed.
She’s changed into shorts and a tank top, and she’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
“Good shower.”
“Good.”
We’re both being carefully polite, like we’re not sure what the rules are now. Like we’re testing the waters of whatever this has become.
“West?”
“Yeah?”
“Come here.”
I cross the small space and sit on the edge of her bed, and she immediately reaches for me.
Not desperate like before. Not rushed or urgent or driven by weeks of built-up tension.
Just... reaching. Like she wants me close.
“Today was good,” she says, her hands finding the edges of my towel.
“Really good.”
“I like seeing you with kids.”
“I like being with kids. Especially with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She kisses me, soft and slow, and this time there’s no urgency. No feeling like we have to rush before someone interrupts or before we change our minds.
This time, we have all night.
We take our time. Learning each other again, reacquainting ourselves with what we discovered that night at the hotel. But this is slower, quieter, more intimate somehow.
Maybe because we’re in her space, surrounded by her things, with nowhere else to be.
Maybe because we’ve stopped pretending this is temporary.
She’s beautiful in the soft light from her bedside lamp, and I tell her so. She laughs and says I’m not too bad myself, and when she runs her hands over my chest, it’s with a familiarity that feels like coming home.
There’s no performance here. No trying to impress or prove anything.
Just need. Simple, honest need.
My towel falls, and I’m bare and ready for her. I lift her shirt and take her nipple into my mouth. Then my roaming hands tug down her shorts.
She moans, running her fingers through my hair. “West?” she says.
I plop off her nipple and look at her, kissing her sternum. “Yeah?”
“I only want two kids.”
“Two?” I ask, kissing her stomach.
She nods, watching me.
“I can work with that,” I say, crawling up her body until my hips meet hers.
She inhales, grabbing my cock and aiming me inside.
I push slowly, and her breath catches. She’s beautiful like this, taking me and enjoying herself. I push all the way in, and she moans into my mouth.
“How many years do you want to be married before we start having kids?” I ask, pumping slowly into her.
She gasps, holding onto my shoulders. “A few years at least.”
I slide out and back in slowly, making her squirm under me. “A couple year?” I ask.
She nods, but I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if I got her pregnant right here right now. I work my hips faster, loving the idea that she’s already agreeing on kids, on marriage, on being with me.
“It’s always been you,” I mutter into her hair.
She grabs my face and kisses me. Then she rolls me onto my back and rides my cock. She takes off her shirt, and I hold her waist, enjoying seeing her like this.
“West,” she moans. “Faster.”
I pound into her until we’re both seeing stars, and I come undone.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in her narrow bed, and I realize I’ve never felt more content in my life.
“Your bed’s really small,” I say eventually.
“I warned you.”
“My legs are dangling off.”
She looks down and giggles. “You can sleep on the couch if you want more space.”
I shake my head, pulling her closer to me. “I don’t want more space.”
“No?”
“I want to be exactly where I am.”
She curls closer to me, fitting perfectly against my side, and I think about how different this is from my house in Seattle.
There, everything’s pristine and organized and designed to look good. Here, everything’s lived-in and personal and real.
There, I have a king-size bed in a room that could fit her entire apartment.
Here, I’m sharing a twin bed with the woman I love, and I wouldn’t trade places with anyone.
“Liv?”
“Mmm?”
“I love your apartment.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not just saying it. I mean it.”
“It’s so different from your place.”
“It feels like you. It feels like home.”
“My tiny studio apartment feels like home to you?” she asks, confused.
I whisper, “You feel like home to me.”
She goes still against me, and I wonder if I said too much. She’s quiet for a long time, and I can feel her thinking.
“Will we survive long distance?” she says finally.
And it’s quiet again because how do I answer that? I don’t know what we’ll survive through, but I know it’s worth a try.
I grab her face and kiss her lips. “We will,” I say with promise.
She smiles and kisses me back.
I lie awake for a while after she falls asleep, listening to the sounds of the city outside her window and feeling her heartbeat against my chest.
This isn’t what I planned when I flew to LA.
But it’s exactly what I needed.
Her, this, us.