17. Seventeen
Seventeen
Nate
Sunlight streams through my bedroom windows, painting golden stripes across Lacey’s bare shoulder. The sheet has slipped down, revealing the curve of her spine, and I fight the urge to trace it with my fingers. She’s curled into my side, her breath warm against my chest, one leg tangled between mine, and the intimate contact makes my pulse quicken even now.
I shift slightly, adjusting to the feel of her in my arms, and she stirs, mumbling something against my skin before her lashes flutter open. Her deep brown eyes meet mine, and for a heartbeat, neither of us says anything.
I brace myself for regret, for second thoughts, for her to pull away.
But instead, she sighs, stretching like a cat before rolling onto her side. She props herself up on an elbow, studying my face.
“Hi,” she says softly.
“Hi.” I brush a strand of hair from her cheek, relieved when she leans into the touch. “You okay?”
She considers this, her fingers tracing abstract patterns on my chest. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who values privacy and control, and here we are...”
“Here we are,” I agree, pulling her closer. “Breaking all the rules.”
“We could... not break them.” But there’s no conviction in her voice.
I laugh softly. “Think that ship has sailed, Lace.”
She shifts to look at me properly, and even with bed-mussed hair, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “So what now?”
“We could overthink it,” I suggest, my hand sliding down her back. “Worry about the contract, the press, the band, your career, or…” I exhale slowly as my hand cups her backside. “We could make the best of our… ah… situation.”
Her lips press together, considering. “We’re stuck together for five more months. Might as well enjoy it, right?”
I grin, propping myself up against the headboard. “Are you suggesting a fake engagement with benefits, Ms. Monroe?”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. “I’m saying we take it one day at a time. No pressure, no expectations. We don’t have to make promises we can’t keep.”
Something about the way she says it makes my chest tighten. No promises. Just borrowed time. I should be relieved by that.
Instead, I reach over, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “One day and one night at a time,“ I agree, leaning in to kiss her because I can now, and I feel her smile against my lips.
As we break apart, her gaze flickers down to my mouth for a split second before she pushes the sheet off, sitting up and slipping my discarded t-shirt over her head. “Good. Because we have a day off, and I for one refuse to waste it.”
I watch as she stands, stretching, completely at ease despite the fact that she’s wearing nothing but my t-shirt.
“Got something in mind?” I ask, already knowing the answer is yes. Because she has that look in her eyes—the one that looks like I’m about to be dragged into something I wouldn’t normally do.
“We have the whole day off...” she reminds me.
“We do.”
“So... Let’s do something normal.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Define normal.”
“You know, something regular people would do on their day off. Not rockstars or movie stars. Just... a normal engaged couple.”
I run a hand through my hair, skeptical. “Like what?”
Lacey’s eyes light up with an idea. “A flea market.”
I stare at her. “A flea market?”
“Yes!” She plops back onto the bed enthusiastically. “Bargaining, people watching, weird homemade crafts.” She grins at my immediate grimace. “Come on! It’ll be fun. We can dress down and be incognito. Buy things we don’t need. Eat terrible food.”
“You want to drag me to a flea market to buy junk?”
She sits up, and the t-shirt reveals a dangerous amount of skin—very distracting. “Your house needs personality, Nate. It’s like a museum in here.”
“It’s minimalist,” I protest, but I’m already giving in. I’d probably agree to anything with her looking at me like that.
“It’s sterile.” She leans over to kiss me quickly. “Come on. Loosen up—be impulsive.”
I shake my head. “Lacey, I don’t think I’ve ever stepped foot in a flea market in my life.”
She gasps, like I just told her I don’t believe in birthdays. “Well, that settles it. You need this experience.”
I groan, rubbing my temples. “Fine. But we have to lay low. No getting recognized.”
Lacey waves a hand. “Please. We’ll dress down, blend in.”
I glance toward my closet. “Pretty sure blending in isn’t my specialty.”
An hour later, we’re dressed in our best attempt at anonymity—baseball caps, sunglasses, and casual clothes. Lacey eyes my Audi RS7 skeptically as we head to the garage.
“This car screams ‘notice me,’” she complains.
I smirk. “You want us to Uber to a flea market?”
“No, I want you to trade it in for a beat-up pickup truck and a ‘Honk If You Love Tacos’ bumper sticker.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Not happening.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. But if we get spotted because of your bougie car, I’m making you buy something extra embarrassing.”
“I can live with that.”
The flea market is already bustling when we arrive, a sprawling maze of tents and tables under the Florida sun. The air is thick with the scent of street food—grilled meat, sugary funnel cakes, and something fried that I probably shouldn’t question.
Lacey moves through the crowd like a pro, stopping at every table, running her fingers over old books and colorful glass bottles, and grinning like a kid in a candy store. I find myself smiling despite my reservations.
“Look!” She drags me toward a stall full of vintage records. “Oh my God, they have the first Zeppelin album on vinyl!”
I examine it while she chats with the vendor, surprised by the condition.
Then, I watch her in action.
Oh, come on,“ she protests, “Twenty dollars? I’ll give you fifteen.”
The old man running the booth shakes his head. “Eighteen, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Lacey narrows her eyes, considering. “Sixteen, and I’ll take this other one, too.”
The guy hesitates, then sighs. “Fine. But only because you’re cute.”
I chuckle as she hands over the cash, triumphant. “You love this, don’t you?”
She beams. “The thrill of the deal, baby.”
I shake my head, laughing as Lacey moves on to the next booth. She reaches up to examine something on a high shelf, and her shirt rides up, revealing a strip of skin that makes my mouth go dry. When she catches me staring, her lips curve into a knowing smile that promises payback later.
We wander for hours, and I have to admit, it’s fun. No one recognizes us. We’re just another couple, holding hands and exploring. Lacey bargains for everything—vintage band posters, an antique chess set that makes me think of her father, a ridiculous lava lamp that she insists will ‘add color’ to my living room.
At the food section, she insists we try everything. We share a massive funnel cake covered in powdered sugar, and she laughs when I get it all over my shirt. The street tacos are actually amazing, and watching her try to eat a burrito without making a mess is both adorable and hilarious.
“You’ve got...” I reach over to wipe sauce from the corner of her mouth, and she catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. The simple gesture makes my heart pound.
And then it hits me—This is the most normal I’ve felt in years.
No cameras, no staged events, no one watching our every move. Just a girl and a guy at a flea market, eating food that will probably clog our arteries, arguing over whether or not my house needs a statue of a wide-eyed ceramic cat.
By the time we head home, the car is full of what I would normally consider junk, but somehow, I don’t mind. Lacey’s practically bouncing with excitement as we unload everything, making me laugh.
“You got your normal day, Lace,” I tell her proudly as we walk inside.
“This,” she declares, setting the lava lamp on my otherwise pristine side table, “is exactly what this place needed.”
I give her a look. “It looks like it’s possessed.”
She gasps, “How dare you.”
I shake my head, grabbing a bottle of water. “You’re lucky I agreed to this day in the first place.”
She grins, not believing the lie. “You loved it.”
I exhale, shaking my head with a smile. “Maybe.”
I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder to survey our haul. “But my minimalist soul is protesting.”
She turns in my arms, looping hers around my neck. “Your minimalist soul needs to live a little.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Besides, now, when you look at these things, you’ll think of today.”
“I don’t need tacky decorations to think of today and you,” I murmur, pulling her closer.
“No?” Her fingers play with the hair at the nape of my neck. “What do you need?”
Instead of answering, I kiss her, slow and deep, tasting powdered sugar, sunshine, and something uniquely Lacey.
The antique chess set ends up on the coffee table, the vintage posters waiting to be framed. Lacey flits around the house, finding homes for all the colorful treasures we brought home, while I watch from the couch, amazed at how she’s transforming my space with such small changes.
“Oh!” She disappears into the kitchen and returns with a brown paper bag. “We almost forgot the best part.”
She pulls out two hand-painted coffee mugs we’d found at one of the last stalls. Mine is deep blue with a drum kit silhouette; hers is a soft pink with music notes on one side and a company princess on the other. They’re far from the sleek, matching sets in my cabinets, but something about their imperfect charm fits perfectly with this new reality we’re creating.
“For our morning coffee,” she says, setting them on the counter. “Since I seem to be spending my nights and weekends here in Jacksonville rather than my temporary apartment in Beverly Hills.”
The casual way she says it, like it’s already decided, makes my chest tighten with something that feels dangerously close to hope. “Is that so?”
She turns to face me, biting her lip. “Unless... I mean, we didn’t really discuss—“
I’m off the couch and kissing her before she can finish that thought. She makes a surprised sound that turns into a soft moan as she winds her arms around my neck. Her body arches into mine, and the feel of her pressed against me sends heat coursing through my veins. My hands find her waist, thumbs stroking the bare skin where her shirt has ridden up again.
“Stay,” I murmur against her lips. “Tonight, tomorrow night, any night you want to.”
“Careful,” she teases, though her voice is breathless. “That sounds suspiciously like a promise.”
“One day and night at a time, remember?” I trail kisses down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under my lips. “And tonight, I want you here.”
Her fingers tangle in my hair as she tilts her head to give me better access. “And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll wake up and drink coffee from our ridiculous mugs.” I nip at her collarbone, drawing a gasp from her. “And maybe I’ll let you drag me to another normal-people activity.”
She laughs, the sound turning into a moan as my hands slide under her shirt. “Like mini golf?”
“Don’t push it.” I capture her lips again, walking her backward until she hits the counter. “Right now, I have other activities in mind.”
“Better than mini golf?” Her eyes dance with mischief as I lift her onto the counter.
The new height puts us perfectly aligned, and when she hooks her legs around my waist, drawing me closer, I have to stifle a groan. Her fingers grasp my hair as I trail kisses down her neck.
“Much better.”
As I lose myself in her arms, surrounded by lava lamps, vintage posters, and all these little pieces of normal she’s brought into my life, I realize something. Maybe this isn’t just making the best of a situation anymore. Maybe it’s becoming something more.
But that’s a thought for another day. Right now, there’s just Lacey and me and this perfect moment we’ve carved out for ourselves.