Jordan
I kiss him against the front door of my house. We put off leaving the beach house for as long as humanly possible, so it’s well past midnight now.
“Stay the night,” I say. Being alone in my bed after this weekend doesn’t feel like an option anymore. I hate the idea.
He groans and leans his forehead against mine. “Don’t tempt me. I have to be home to make sure Rory gets to school. Plus, it’ll be difficult to explain why I’m here to the others.”
I press my lips together and close my eyes.
“How much do you hate this? The secrecy?” I ask.
I brace myself. He has to hate it. I hate it, and I’m the one who’s not a hundred percent ready to be open about these new sides of me to the rest of the world.
I’m not even sure what’s holding me back.
It’s not coming out—it’s Milán. Because coming out would mean explaining what we’re doing, and I’m not a hundred percent sure.
We haven’t talked about it, we haven’t defined anything, and there’s this idiotic part of my brain that says everything is going well, so why would I jinx it?
“Hey,” he says. “I am not going to give you an ultimatum or anything like that. We’ll go at whatever pace makes you comfortable.”
“But—”
He kisses me.
Too briefly.
“Stop thinking,” he says.
I smile and inhale, filling my lungs with the scent of his cologne and the soap on his skin.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks.
I nod, then watch him jog down the steps. He opens the door of the rental, and our eyes lock over the roof. Hold.
He taps his palm against the roof twice and smiles at me before he gets inside.
I stay on the front steps until the car disappears around the corner.
I blow out a breath, try to wipe the stupid smile off my face without success, then head inside.
Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
He walks into the studio just as I’m finishing up with a client, and the moment he steps inside, I’m incapable of concentrating properly on anything but him.
Him and his chestnut hair and pale green eyes. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, a black sweater, and a black coat, and I’ve never wanted to get my hands on him more. My fingers buzz with the need to touch him. My heart beats erratically.
I wrap things up as quickly as I can and try to ignore the heated look in his eyes for my own sanity.
“Hey,” I say when he walks over to me. “What are you doing here?” I grin like a madman, heart galloping in my chest.
“I—” He takes a step closer. “—was in the neighborhood?” His smile is endearingly shy.
“I didn’t want to interrupt, but I figured I could stop by.
Maybe take you to lunch if you haven’t eaten yet?
I don’t know how long you have, but there are few places nearby.
I’d only steal you away for thirty minutes at the most.”
He’s rambling.
It’s cute.
I’m floating on air.
I whirl to look at Genevieve.
She raises a brow at me. “Why are you still here?” She waves us toward the door. “Go.”
I grab my phone and wallet and throw on my coat, and we head outside.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks.
“Anywhere.” I step closer and slide my hand into his.
He looks down at our linked fingers.
And kisses me.
Right there on the street.
And I don’t mind.
Because it feels just right.
We celebrate Rory’s birthday with a surprise party. He looks at the cake and presents with wide eyes where hope is battling caution.
We sing him happy birthday and laugh about being off key. Rory blows out the candles and opens his presents, and later we play board games, and I laugh more than I ever remember laughing about card games.
March settles in with uncommonly warm weather, so soccer practice moves back outside.
Twice a week, we make sure Theo and Rory both get to practice on time, and then we sit on the bleachers and watch them play.
After, we walk home, the four of us, and while the boys take Dog to the park for his evening walk, Milán and I sit on the front steps of my house and talk. We never run out of things to say.
On Saturdays, we have movie nights. The four of us and whoever else happens to be in the house, sprawled out on the couch. Bowls of popcorn and chips passed around while we’re arguing about what to watch.
Whenever we can, we make dinner together with Theo and Rory sprawled out on the floor, studying or playing video games.
We eat together and talk about our days.
And I look around the table.
And think.
What if?
“Something’s different about you,” Wren says when we’re walking back home one day after grabbing lunch together.
“I got a haircut the other day. Took you a while to notice.” I lift my face up to the sun and close my eyes. Early spring has never been so beautiful before.
“No. You’re being all… happy.”
I turn my head to look at him. “Is that bad?”
“I’m just saying, share the joy,” he says. “What’s up?”
I shrug. “Nothing. Just having a good day.”
Not just one. So many of them in a row I’ve lost count.
And maybe that’s the key. Maybe it’s not about grand gestures and big moments.
Maybe true happiness is a series of ordinary days made incredible by somebody else living that same ordinary life with you.
Maybe happiness is the ordinary moments with someone you love at home after the end of a normal workday.
The dinners and board games and soccer practice and movie nights.
Those small moments of pleasure you think back on and smile about.
Lying in bed together, talking and laughing. Just being alive. Together.
I almost stumble over my own feet.
Wren raises a brow at me. “You okay?”
My mouth is dry, and my heart won’t stop pounding.
Am I okay?
“Yeah,” I say.
And I smile.
Because everything is just right.