Amanda
We're sitting in my condo.
Well.
Our condo now, apparently.
And honestly?
I'm still trying to wrap my head around how easy this all feels.
Me.
Less.
And we have guests!
Brielle and Nick from the show.
Add some takeout.
A little bit of laughter.
And you have full-blown domesticity.
It's stunning.
Not because it's perfect.
But because it's real.
Because three years ago I thought I'd lost this forever.
And now?
Now Less' shaving kit is in my bathroom.
His clothes are hanging in my closet.
His boots are sitting beside my front door.
And every morning I wake up tangled in his arms.
I didn't realize how much I missed being someone's home.
Being loved.
Being chosen.
Being known.
And somehow—after everything—we're just falling into this.
Into us.
And we’re falling headfirst.
Like we'd never stopped.
Like three years apart were just one horrible detour on the road back to each other.
Less opens the door for the delivery guy while I head into the kitchen.
“Need help?” Brielle asks immediately.
I smile.
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Your boyfriend is terrifying Nick over there.”
I laugh.
“Less isn't terrifying.”
Brielle just stares.
“Amanda.”
“What?”
“He practically growled when Nick introduced himself.”
“He did not.”
“He absolutely did.”
I giggle.
Okay.
Maybe she has a point.
We begin setting out plates and silverware while Brielle hangs the garment bag carefully over one of the dining room chairs.
“You know,” she says casually.
“I've never seen you smile like this before.”
I blink.
“Who? Me?”
“Yep, and it’s all because of your bodyguard boyfriend.”
“My bodyguard boyfriend?”
Her face lights up immediately.
“Ohhhhh! I love that! I think I’m gonna coin that hashtag right now!”
She takes out her cell phone and starts posting God knows what on God knows where, and three seconds later starts to shout.
“#BodyguardBoyfriend is gonna go viral, y’all!”
I close my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s not good.”
Heat climbs into my cheeks.
“Not good? Why not?”
“Brielle, you can’t just announce my personal life on social media.”
“Oh, because you’re famous, right? Well, no worries, Miss Broadway Star,” she says, getting cheekier by the second, and I can feel my entire face burning now.
“FYI, I did not name you. Just said there are some developments on Broadway and added the hashtag thingy,” she says like she’s so clever.
“You are the worst friend, Brielle Crandon,” I snark, but I don’t mean it.
“Nah, you love me. And, really, Amanda, can I say congrats? Cause that fine as hell man looks at you like you're the moon and stars.”
My chest squeezes.
Because that's exactly how it feels.
And somehow hearing someone else notice makes it real.
“Yeah? Well, I’m crazy about him too. The truth is, he wasn't always around,” I admit softly. “We have some history.”
“Bad history?”
“Complicated history.”
“Ah.”
Brielle nudges me with her shoulder.
“Well, whatever happened, he clearly got his act together.”
I laugh softly.
“He really did.”
“And you're happy?”
The question catches me off guard.
Because nobody has asked me that in a while.
Not really.
Not beyond surface level.
Am I happy?
I think about waking up wrapped around Less.
About coffee in bed.
About him moving into my condo without even asking permission because apparently he'd already decided.
About the way he checks that I've eaten.
About the way he plays with my hair.
About how he still calls me Rusty.
About the fact that every time he kisses me I feel sixteen and thirty-five all at once.
And God help me—I smile.
Really smile.
Because I am happy.
And I tell her so.
“Yeah.”
The answer comes easily.
“So happy it's scary.”
Brielle's expression softens.
“The good ones usually are.”
Before I can respond, Less walks back into the kitchen carrying three giant bags of food like they weigh nothing.
Nick trails behind with drinks.
“Where do you want this?” Nick asks.
“Counter's fine,” I tell him.
Less immediately starts unloading containers.
“Pad Thai.”
He sets one down.
“Red curry.”
Another.
“Drunken noodles.”
Another.
“Mango sticky rice.”
He unloads and opens one after the other, and I stare because he ordered this before Brielle and Nick showed up.
He finishes with, “Extra crab rangoons.”
I blink.
“Less…”
He shrugs.
“You like those.”
Brielle slowly turns toward me.
Then toward him.
Then back toward me.
“Oh my God.”
“What?” I ask.
“He knows your favorite appetizer. And he gets extra! That is sooooo cute!”
Heat floods my face.
“It's not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Brielle squeaks. “Amanda, my ex-husband didn't know my birthday.”
Nick nearly spits out his drink.
Less just frowns.
“How the fuck do you forget your wife’s birthday?”
Brielle points dramatically.
“See? That's what I said!”
I burst out laughing.
And just like that, the room erupts.
Nick smirks, which is as close as I think he gets to laughing.
Brielle is chuckling.
I’m laughing.
And Less is smirking.
And for one perfect second—everything feels normal.
No possibly homicidal stalkers.
No accidents.
No fear.
Just life.
Just happiness.
Just us.