Chapter 47
The house doesn't feel real yet.
Even standing in it.
Even with boxes everywhere and Callahan hauling things in like he's been recruited for a moving operation he never agreed to.
Even with Ava in Mason's arms, she's pointing at everything like she's personally inspecting the property.
It still feels like I'm going to wake up and be back in the apartment.
But I don't.
I'm here.
In a house Mason bought.
For us.
I still don't know how to hold that thought without my chest tightening.
"Where does this go?" Callahan calls from the hallway, holding up a box labeled kitchen stuff like it's a puzzle he refuses to solve.
"Kitchen," Mason answers immediately, like it's obvious.
Callahan squints at him.
"Helpful. Thanks."
Mason doesn't even look up from where he's assembling Ava's cot in what will be her room.
I watch him for a second longer than I mean to.
He's been like this all day.
Focused. Calm. In control in a way that makes everything around him feel steadier just by proximity.
Like the house itself is learning how to breathe because he's in it.
"Chloe?" Callahan says suddenly.
I blink.
"Yeah?"
"You just gonna stand there or you gonna help?"
I realize I've been frozen in the doorway holding a box of random things I packed in a panic last night.
"I'm helping," I say quickly.
Mason glances over then.
Just briefly.
His eyes soften a little when they land on me.
"Sit down," he says.
"I'm fine."
"Chloe."
It's not a command.
But it might as well be.
I sigh and put the box down anyway.
Callahan snorts quietly.
"Yeah," he mutters. "Good luck arguing with that."
I glare at him, but there's no real heat in it.
Ava babbles happily from Mason's arms, completely unaware of the chaos around her.
I move into the kitchen slowly.
The space is bigger than I'm used to.
Too open.
Too quiet.
Too everything.
Callahan starts unpacking plates while talking nonsense about how Mason "definitely overpaid" for the house, which Mason ignores completely.
I find myself leaning against the counter instead of helping immediately.
My hands feel useless.
Still adjusting.
Still learning what normal is supposed to feel like.
Mason walks in behind me at some point, Ava now settled on his hip.
He stops when he sees me.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
I nod automatically.
Then stop.
Then, I shake my head slightly.
"I am," I admit. "Just... weird."
He understands immediately.
Of course he does.
He steps closer, not touching me yet.
"You don't have to be useful today," he says.
I huff a small laugh.
"I always have to be useful."
"No," he says. "Not here."
Something in my chest tightens at that.
I look at him properly.
Callahan is still in the next room making noise with boxes and complaining loudly about "military men who think they're interior designers."
But here it's quiet.
Just Mason.
Just me.
Ava reaches for me suddenly, and I take her without thinking.
She settles instantly against my chest like she always does now.
Like I'm part of her routine.
That thought still hits me sometimes.
Soft and overwhelming at the same time.
Mason watches me hold her for a moment.
Then his hand comes up, slow, careful, and rests lightly on my lower back.
Not pushing.
Just there.
Grounding.
"This is yours too," he says quietly.
I swallow.
"I know."
But I don't fully believe it yet.
Not in the way I want to.
Callahan appears in the doorway again.
"Alright," he says. "Kitchen is functional. Barely. I've done my part. I'm expecting gratitude in the form of food and emotional validation."
Mason doesn't look at him.
"Get out of my kitchen."
Callahan grins.
"See? Domestic life is already ruining you."
That makes something warm pull at my chest.
Because Mason doesn't look ruined.
He looks... right.
Like he fits here.
Like he was always supposed to be here and didn't know it yet.
Callahan eventually leaves after helping with the last of the heavier boxes, throwing Mason a final teasing comment about "housewarming parties and accidental marriages."
Mason shuts the door behind him.
Silence settles properly then.
Not empty.
Just calm.
Ava starts to get sleepy again, rubbing her eyes against my shoulder.
I sway slightly without thinking, instinctively.
Mason notices immediately.
"Bedroom?" he asks softly.
I nod.
We move together without needing to discuss it.
That's becoming normal too.
The bedroom is still half-unpacked, but the bed is made.
That's enough.
I sit down first, settling Ava down carefully before she fully drifts off.
Mason watches for a second.
Then sits beside me.
Not too close.
Just enough.
My shoulders finally drop a little.
"I keep waiting to feel scared," I admit quietly.
Mason turns his head toward me.
"Why?"
I hesitate.
Because I don't know how to explain it properly.
"Because things are good," I say. "And I'm not used to that."
Silence.
Then his hand finds mine on the bed.
Simple.
Steady.
"You don't have to wait for it to break," he says.
My throat tightens.
"I don't know how not to do that."
He squeezes my hand once.
"Then I'll do it for you," he says.
I look at him.
Really look at him.
At the man who carried me through panic.
Who fed me when I forgot.
Who built a life around the idea that I might need somewhere safe before I even knew I did.
And suddenly I realize something that scares me less than it used to.
I believe him.
Not because I should.
Because I already do.
My fingers tighten around his hand.
And for the first time in a long time, the word home doesn't feel temporary anymore.