Chapter Thirty-Six - Epilogue
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Epilogue
Hannah stood in apartment 8B, surrounded by moving boxes and packing paper, watching James meticulously label another container with his precise handwriting. He'd created a color-coded system for the move – red for kitchen items, blue for books, green for teaching supplies. She'd teased him about it at first, but there was something endearing about how he approached even this task with careful attention to detail.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked, not because she doubted, but because she still sometimes needed to hear him say it.
James looked up from his labeling. His hair was slightly mussed from where he'd been running his fingers through it, and his shirt was covered in dust from helping her pack her classroom supplies.
The James she'd first known would have been horrified by his current disheveled state. This James just smiled at her with that soft look that made her heart flutter.
"About having your constantly tilting paintings in my perfectly arranged apartment?" He set down his marker. "About finding your teacher supplies mixed in with my financial reports? About waking up every morning to you straightening things that don't need straightening?"
Hannah felt her cheeks warm. "When you put it that way..."
"I've never been more sure of anything." He stood, crossing to where she was ineffectively folding packing paper. "Though I do have one condition."
"Oh?"
His hands found her waist, pulling her close. Both necklaces – silver and gold, different yet perfectly matched – caught the afternoon light. "You have to keep paying attention to the lobby even after you move upstairs. Mrs. Peterson says no one else notices when the paintings need adjusting."
Hannah laughed, leaning into him. "I think you've gotten pretty good at noticing things yourself."
"I had an excellent teacher." His thumb brushed over her apple pendants.
Hannah's heart did that familiar squeeze.
"You don't have to keep doing that, you know," she said quietly. "Helping with art projects, fixing things around the building..."
"I want to." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "It's home now. You made it home."
Hannah looked around the half-packed apartment – at the box labeled "WEATHER PAINTINGS (HANDLE WITH CARE)" in James's precise handwriting, at her practical shoes lined up next to his Italian leather ones, at all the evidence of their lives merging.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "8B has the perfect view of the street where you first realized you might love me."
James's arms tightened around her. "Actually, I realized I loved you in the community room, watching you teach children about emotional weather patterns. But I was too stupid to admit it then."
"And now?"
"Now?" He turned her to face him properly. "Now I admit it every chance I get. I love you, Hannah Miller. Even if you insist on straightening paintings that are clearly meant to hang at exactly thirty-seven degrees."
Hannah laughed, but it caught in her throat as James cupped her face with that devastating gentleness she was still learning to accept.
"Move in with me," he said softly. "Not because it's practical, or because your lease is up, or because my apartment is bigger. Move in with me because I want to wake up to you every morning. Because I want your tendency to rescue stray craft supplies mixed in with my market reports. Because I want everything about you in my space."
Hannah pressed her hand over his where it rested on her cheek. "I'm already moving in with you. We're literally packing my things right now."
"I know." His smile was soft. "I just like asking. Because then I can hear you say yes."
"Yes," she whispered, reaching up to smooth his perpetually mussed hair. "Yes to all of it."
James's kiss tasted like promise and forever and coming home. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright with something that looked suspiciously like tears.
Around them, the afternoon light spilled through the windows. Hannah's necklaces caught the sun, gold and silver dancing together like their own kind of weather pattern – clear skies and warm hearts, stretching endlessly ahead.