Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Mikey
Forever And A Day
Benson Boone
The apartment is different now. Not because anything changed structurally.
Because it feels lived in. There’s a stack of her books on the coffee table.
A cardigan draped over the arm of the couch.
A pair of her flats kicked near the door like she forgot they weren’t always there.
I step around them instead of moving them.
Not because I don’t notice. Because I like that they’re there.
She’s in the kitchen, humming off-key while flipping something in a pan. The smell of garlic hits me before I even see her. Of course it’s garlic. I grin to myself as I sniff loudly.
“Too much?” She asks without turning around.
“There’s no such thing.” I walk up behind her and slide my arms around her waist, dropping a kiss against her neck. She glances back over her shoulder, smiling. That smile isn’t cautious anymore. It isn’t searching. It’s settled.
We eat at the counter instead of the table. Our knees bump. She steals food off my plate even though hers is identical. I don’t call her out on it. Later, music drifts softly from the speaker. I grab her hand and pull her into the living room without explaining myself.
“What are you doing?” She laughs as I spin her around.
“Something important.” I wrap my arms around her waist and sway slowly.
“This feels suspicious,” she chuckles.
“It isn’t.”
She looks up at me, amused and curious.
“I don’t want to wait for some big dramatic moment to say this,” I explain, her body going still in my arms. Her fingers tighten against my shoulders as she looks up at me. “I want you here because I want to build something with you.”
She doesn’t interrupt.
“I cleared out half the closet,” I admit. “And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to feel like pressure.”
Her eyes soften.
“I want you in my bed every night,” I continue. “Not because I’m afraid you’ll leave, but because I like waking up with your hair in my face and your cold feet on my legs.”
She laughs softly at that.
“I want to figure out Thanksgiving and Christmas with you. I want to take you on a walk the first time it snows so you can see how it looks on the lake. I want to keep smelling your shampoo every time I walk into the bathroom, and I never want you to stop stealing my hoodies and pretending they’re yours. ”
Her voice is quiet now. “They are mine.”
I smile. “And, I want this to be our home.” I blow out a nervous breath. There it is. No ring. No kneeling. No spectacle. Just my heart on my sleeve.
She searches my face like she’s measuring whether I mean it. I don’t look away. “You are home to me,” I add quietly. “I just needed to stop acting like I didn’t deserve that.”
Her hands slide up into my hair, slow and certain. “I’m not staying because I have nowhere else to go.”
“I know.”
“I’m staying because I want to.” She searches my face like she’s measuring my response. And then something in her expression shifts. Not hesitation, but realization. “And because somewhere between the thunderstorm and coming to stay here, I fell in love with you,” she admits softly.
My heart slams against my ribs, a smile I can’t contain breaking across my face, my voice a little hoarse as I respond. “I love you too. I think maybe from the first moment I saw you in New York.”
Her palm rests against my cheek, her thumb brushing against my jaw. “So, yeah, I’m staying.”
“Forever if you want.”
She smiles. “Probably.”
We don’t kiss dramatically. We don’t rush. We just stand there, swaying slightly, music low, city noise humming outside the windows as all the pieces click together, my heart at peace.
Later, she falls asleep on the couch again. I leave her there for a few minutes this time, just watching. The way she curls into the corner. The way her hand drifts over the cushion like she’s searching for me even unconscious.
Chaos and comfort. That’s us. I slide down beside her instead of carrying her to bed. She stirs, eyes barely opening. “Is it time for bed?” she yawns.
“Nope.”
She smiles sleepily and tucks herself into my chest. And as I wrap my arms around her, I realize something simple and solid: I’m not bracing anymore. I’m not preparing for loss. I’m not acting like I’m second.
For the first time in a long time, I’m exactly where I want to be. And for the first time, I’m not afraid of keeping it.