67. Drew
DREW
I stand in the middle of my living room, watching Violet take over my house.
And somehow, I’ve never loved this place more.
Boxes line the walls.
Her books are on my shelves.
Her coffee mug is beside mine.
Her ridiculously expensive shampoo is in my shower.
I’m still trying not to think too hard about that last one. Because every time I do, my brain reminds me that Violet is living here with me.
I open a box and freeze.
Sitting neatly folded on top is a familiar T-shirt.
My blue T-shirt.
I pick it up slowly. “Violet.”
“Yes?” she calls from the closet.
“Why is my shirt in your box?”
She walks out, completely calm. “Because it’s mine.”
I stare at her. “It literally came from my hamper.”
“Originally,” she agrees. “I slept in it.”
Something in my chest tightens, but I don't let her see it. I’ll probably wind up without any clothes if I don’t stand my ground.
“You stole it.”
“Borrowed.”
“Did you plan on returning it?”
She looks at the shirt, then back at me. “No.”
Of course not.
I should probably be more concerned.
Months ago, I would have been.
Now?
I just toss it into her drawer.
Somewhere along the way, my things became her things.
And my house became our home.
I glance around the room, shaking my head.
When I moved in, this place was quiet. Predictable. Safe.
Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
Now her stuff is mixed with mine, Luna is chasing a piece of packing paper across the floor, and Violet is organizing my kitchen because apparently I’ve been putting things in the wrong cabinets since she moved in.
“You know this is my house too, right?” I ask.
She looks over her shoulder. “Yup. It’s our house.”
“You’re rearranging everything.”
“Yes.”
I wait.
She doesn’t elaborate.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Just checking.”
A smile curves her lips. “I’m improving efficiency.”
“You moved my coffee.”
“Closer to the coffee maker.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
Damn it. She’s right.
I hate when she’s right.
Which is most of the time.
The front door opens. Callie walks inside without knocking, carrying a box.
“Boundaries,” I say automatically.
She looks at me, then Violet, then back to me. “You’re dating my sister.”
“Yes?”
“She stalked you for months.”
I sigh. “Fair point.”
I used to want normal.
Turns out, normal is overrated.
Two hours later, I think we’re done.
I’m wrong.
A low rumble comes from outside.
I frown. “What is that?”
Violet’s expression doesn’t change, which immediately makes me suspicious.
“Violet.”
“Yes?”
“What is that?”
“My motorcycle.”
I blink. “Your what?”
“My motorcycle.” She says it calmly, like she just told me she owns a toaster.
I follow her outside.
A sleek black motorcycle is sitting in the driveway.
Callie climbs off it.
My brain immediately stops working. “You have a motorcycle.”
“Yes.”
“Since when?”
She shrugs. “I’ve had it for years.”
Something about the way she says it makes my stomach tighten. “Violet.”
She looks at me innocently.
“Why do I feel like there’s more to this?”
“Because you know me.”
Oh no.
I brace myself for whatever she’s about to say.
“I used it sometimes when I followed you.”
I stare. “You what?”
“You knew my car.”
“So you rode a motorcycle?”
“Sometimes.”
“To stalk me.”
“Yes.”
I drag both hands down my face. “Of course you did.”
“It was practical.”
“It was stalking.”
“Practical stalking.”
“Violet.”
“What?”
I should have questions. Lots of questions.
Instead, my stupid brain has decided to focus on the fact that Violet rides a motorcycle.
The image of her on it is hot.
So hot, I forget what I was going to say.
Her lips curve. “You like the motorcycle.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I’m processing.”
“You’re giving me that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re turned on.”
I scoff, even though she’s right.
But I don’t admit it.
“I’m concerned.”
“About the motorcycle?”
“Yes.”
“Because of me riding it?”
I’m silent, my thoughts a muddled mess.
Her smile widens.
Damn it.
“I’ll take you for a ride.”
My brain supplies several different interpretations of that sentence. None of them help.
“You mean on the motorcycle.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “What else would I mean?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing.”
Her smile says she knows exactly what I meant.
Fantastic.
I’m being teased by my stalker girlfriend.
And I like it.
The goodbye between her and Callie is... awkward.
They stand near the car, not quite looking at each other.
“Don’t get weird about it,” Callie says.
“I’m not,” Violet replies, blinking rapidly.
Callie narrows her eyes. “You’re already weird about it.”
“I’m not.” She blows out a shaky breath.
“You are.”
Without warning, Violet steps forward and hugs her.
Callie freezes for half a second. Then hugs her back.
“I’ll call you,” Violet says.
“You better.”
“I will.”
Callie leans back just enough to look at her. "And remember..."
Violet raises an eyebrow.
"You still owe me two favors."
Violet laughs softly. "I haven't forgotten."
I don’t even wanna know.
Callie pulls back, brushing it off like it didn’t just matter.
“Go inside,” she says. “Before I change my mind and move in with you and Drew instead.”
My eyes widen in horror.
Callie flutters her fingers at me in a wave, knowing she got under my skin.
Again.
I wrap my arm around Violet and lead her toward the door. “Come on, baby. Let’s go inside.”
I open the door, then pause.
For the first time, it hits me.
This isn’t just my house anymore.
It’s ours.
I close the door behind us.
“Your first night in your new home,” I say, stepping closer and wrapping my arms around her. “With me.”
She smiles up at me. “You’re my home, Drew.”
My chest tightens.
Of course she would say that.
Violet never cared about the house.
She cared about me.
I press my forehead against hers. “You’re my home too, Violet.”