Epilogue
“Mugs, you seen my spatula?” I could’ve sworn I had way more kitchen utensils than are in the drawer right now. “And the measuring cups?” Meredith opens the door to the bathroom coming out wrapped in a towel and a billow of steam. I want to make her some post-coital cookies, but I’m missing some key equipment. Not for the sex, for the cookies.
Her skin is dewy and pink, and I’m ready for round three, but she needs to refuel. So do I, and chocolate chip cookies are the best for shortening a refractory period. I’ve been experimenting.
I have some of the ingredients laid out on the counter and I’m still puzzling over the missing utensils when she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist. “Nice outfit,” she says into the space between my shoulder blades. I hum with pleasure, and it looks like I don’t need the chocolate chip cookies to get back on the horse. My Lick the Chef apron tents—I’m only wearing boxers under it. My suspenders are hanging from the knob of my front door.
“What’d you say when I came out of the bathroom?”
I turn around and pull her close, huffing a deep breath of her shampoo. I get a little thrill that she keeps a bottle of it at my place. “Have you seen the spatula? And my other apron? And the measuring cups? It’s weird because I swear they were here last week.”
She ducks her head and presses her cheek to my shoulder. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“They might be in my bag.”
That takes me a minute. “Did you need to borrow them? My apartment might be crappy but the oven works. We don’t have to go to your place to make cookies.”
“You were making cookies?” Deflection.
Something dawns on me. “Wait, did that stack of T-shirts from my dresser also migrate to your bag?” She ducks her head again. “Meredith, what’s going on?” She’s so fucking adorable when she’s flustered. She opens and closes her mouth, avoids meeting my eyes so I duck down a little to get in her line of sight. I start laughing because the situation is so absurd. “Come on my little magpie, tell me why you’ve been stealing my things.”
“It’s not stealing. It’s relocating.” Oh, now she’s fierce. Love it. Love her.
“Relocating,” I say slowly, still not understanding.
“I was thinking...” She meets my eyes then glances away. My hands squeeze her hips, trying to encourage her to tell me.
“I’m listening.”
“I was thinking,” she starts again. “That maybe, possibly, hypothetically, that you would kinda want to sort of move in. With me.” My mouth drops open, and words catch in my throat. Heat rushes up my neck and face.
“You want me to move in?” This can’t be real.
“Never mind. It’s probably too soon. I mean, why would you even?—”
“Fuck yes, I want to move in with you. Today. Whenever. Yes.” I wrap her in my arms and squeeze, maybe tighter than I should.
Her shoulders sag in relief. “Yeah? You’re sure?”
“Did you think I’d say no?” That earns me a mini shrug. “Mugs, I love you. More than cookies, more than Bette Midler, more the coffee maker at work, and probably more than you love me.” She shakes her head, but I continue. “Why the hell wouldn’t I want to spend more time with you? To merge our lives together? To hang my suspenders in your closet?”
“Our closet,” she corrects.
“Our closet,” I agree. “You’re the most brilliant girlfriend and this is the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“It ranks up there, but I think the best idea I ever had was kissing you on New Year’s.”
“Mmm, sounds familiar, but you’ll have to remind me.” She makes an adorable little growling sound and then kisses me like there are fireworks exploding overhead.
What happenswhen a romance writer realizes the guy she”s had a tiny crush on is not who he first seems? Read Joanie and Colin”s office romancein the next Work For It story.
See how Stuart and Meredith celebrate landing another sponsor in this steamy bonus scene.