21. Violet
VIOLET
Drew and I are sitting at a small table near the window, our coffees between us, when he shifts in his seat.
“So,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I did something… kind of impulsive.”
I already know. I watched him sign the paperwork. I saw him notice the heart I drew in the dirt on the window.
Diving behind the shrubs before he spotted me left scratches all over my arms. Thankfully, my cardigan hides them.
“Oh?” I say lightly. “What impulsive thing did you do? Wear loafers without socks?”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“I rented a house,” he says.
I let my eyes widen slightly. Just enough to be convincing. “You did?”
He nods. “The one on Old Mill Road.” He huffs out a quiet breath. “Signed a one-year lease.” His shoulders straighten, pride shining in his eyes. “I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my brother.”
He told me first.
My heart swells.
“That’s a big step,” I say.
“It is,” he admits. “But it feels right.”
“You seem confident.”
He nods, eyes shining with pride.
Satisfaction hums beneath my skin. Sebastian's house was temporary. This one isn't.
Drew having his own place… well, the possibilities are endless.
“I’m actually on my way to look at furniture,” he says. “Which is… a whole thing.”
I smile faintly. “You don’t have any?”
“Barely anything,” he says. “My ex got the house and most of the furniture. I got to keep my desk.”
“Sorry.”
He nods, hesitating a second.
“You wanna come with me?”
My heart surges.
“I mean—” he adds quickly, like he’s already second-guessing himself. “You don’t have to. I just figured you have better taste than I do, and I don’t want to end up with… I don’t know. A folding chair and regret.”
I huff out a soft laugh. “Absolutely. I can help.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his tone hopeful.
“Of course.” I give him a bright smile before sipping my coffee.
Oh, Drew. You have no idea how much I'll help.
“But—fair warning,” he says. “I don’t have the kind of money you do, so go easy on me.”
I tilt my head, considering. “I’ll try.”
He snorts. “That’s not reassuring.”
I laugh. “You want to take this to go and head there?”
He looks surprised, then immediately nods. “I’m ready if you are.”
I stand.
“Let’s go.”
Drew stops just inside the entrance, staring at the furniture like he’s been personally attacked.
“This is a mistake,” he mutters, a horrified expression on his face.
I hide my smile. “No, it isn’t.”
He glances at me. “There are too many choices.”
“You’ll survive.”
“That feels optimistic.”
“Come on,” I smile at him and take his hand. “This won’t hurt. I promise.”
“Yeah, right,” he mutters, but willingly comes along with me.
We start in the living room section. Drew studies the price tags like they're delivering bad medical news.
“This one’s nice,” I say, stopping beside a deep gray couch.
He leans down, checking the tag. “Define ‘nice.’”
“Comfortable. Durable. Neutral.”
“Expensive.”
I consider that. “Also that.”
He huffs out a breath. “I’m not trying to furnish a mansion.”
“You’re not,” I say calmly. “You’re furnishing your home.”
He stills for a second like he’s mulling over my words. Then he clears his throat. “You’re right.”
He lowers himself gingerly onto the couch, like sitting too aggressively means he has to buy it.
I sit beside him, close enough that our thighs brush.
He goes still for a second, clearly aware of it. But he doesn’t move.
“What do you think?” I ask, leaning back slightly.
He exhales, testing the cushions. “It’s… actually really comfortable.”
“It’ll look good in your house,” I say.
His brows pull together. “How do you know?”
“The color. It goes with pretty much everything.”
“Oh.” His eyes linger on me for a moment longer than necessary.
I rub my hand over the material. “What do you think? If you buy the couch and recliner, it’ll save you some money.” I point at the tag.
“That’s promising.” He stands, then holds his hand out for me to take. “Let’s continue looking.”
I take his hand, goosebumps trailing over my skin.
He smells like soap and stability. Like everything I crave.
We examine a few more couches and a sectional, but I already know Drew is going to get the first one we sat on.
We move to the bedroom section. Beds line the floor in neat rows.
Drew stops again, looking slightly more overwhelmed than before. “I don’t even know where to start.”
I point. “Try that one.”
He eyes it like it might bite him before slowly lowering himself onto it. He bounces lightly, testing it.
“It’s firm,” he says.
“You’ll like it.”
He glances up at me. “You sound very sure.”
I step closer, then I sit beside him.
Oh, yeah. This is significantly better than the one he's sleeping on now.
I lean back, resting on my elbows. “Lie down.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You need to test it properly.”
He hesitates, staring at me for a beat before he lies back.
His body relaxes slightly. His eyes close for a second.
“This is… actually good,” he admits.
“I know.”
He opens one eye, looking at me. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I smile faintly. “A little.”
We move faster after that, discussing, ranking, or discarding dressers, dining tables, chairs, and coffee tables.
By the time a salesperson comes over, Drew is more confident. He leads her to a dining table set, a dresser, two side tables, a bed, and a living room set.
My heart flutters.
We picked all of this together.
He trusted me.
I can’t wait to start renovating our home.
By the time we follow the salesperson to the checkout counter, Drew looks like he’s run a marathon.
I stand beside him as he rubs the back of his neck while she totals everything up.
“We have free delivery,” she says, smiling politely as she types. “We just need to schedule a time.”
Drew nods, glancing at me briefly.
“When would you and your wife like to have this delivered?” she asks.
My heart hums.
His wife. The two most beautiful words I’ve ever heard.
Drew is silent for a beat.
I don’t move. Or outwardly react.
But inside, something warm and bright spreads through me.
She called me his wife.
Drew’s eyes widen as the words sink in, and he chokes slightly.
“I—she’s not—”
I tilt my head slightly, calmly watching him.
“…We’re not married,” he finishes.
He's right.
We aren't married. Yet.
The clerk blinks. “Oh—sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “Next Saturday works.”
I smile softly. That works for me, too.
We step outside a few minutes later, the receipt in his hand.
He exhales like he’s finally able to breathe again. “That was… a lot.”
“You did well.”
He glances at me. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
His eyes are glazed as he stares toward the parking lot. “My place is going to look like an actual home now.”
I nod, a smile on my face.
Because I’ll be in it.
I fall into step beside him as we head toward his car. We exchange a glance, and Drew gives me a smile.
He's content.
So am I.
He doesn't realize he rented our house.