25. let yourself in （now stay）
CHAPTER 25
LET YOURSELF IN (NOW STAY)
LINCOLN
I’ve only ever lived with family before. Never had the occasion to have a partner stay beyond an evening or weekend. When — if — I imagined it, I always expected it to be different from living with Manny or my father— less comfortable in some ways, more in others.
But when I shuffle out of my bedroom to the sun blaring the last of its morning light and find Ivy already settled in on the couch, laptop open on her thighs, a coffee at her lips, completely at ease and looking as though she’s never lived anywhere else, well…
I’m happy to discover how wrong I was.
“I see you’re letting yourself into my apartment.”
She looks up, and her smile rearranges my whole outlook on life. “Is there a problem?”
“Only that I didn’t wake up with you beside me,” I admit, my voice rough with sleep. I make a mental note to try recording more in the mornings. Perhaps Ivy can be my test audience.
As I lean in to kiss her good morning, the lingering scent of sweat under soap and the fresh flush of her cheeks tell me she’s already run and showered this morning. I’m contemplating abandoning all the day’s plans to do nothing but breathe her in when she points to a second mug that is steaming on the coffee table in front of me.
“Tea,” she says.
It’s dark enough to have been properly steeped, with a dash of milk.
“There was only one button on your kettle machine, so if it’s wrong, it’s not my fault.”
Christ, she’s adorable. I’d love nothing more than to distract her with my mouth, but I take the offered tea and groan when, fuck, it’s perfect.
She’s perfect.
Ivy looks up, waiting for my reaction.
I lower myself onto the seat beside her, draping my free arm around her, pressing us together from shoulder to knee. “It’s an interesting way to propose, but I accept.”
She lights up at the praise. Yes, I’ll take every morning like this.
“What are you working on?” I ask, nodding to her laptop. There’s an ungodly number of tabs open, the foremost one a job listing.
She stares down at it, hesitation stitched into every pore. “I decided it was time to get a job.”
“You decided, or it’s something you’re doing to keep your mum happy?”
Her worry lines deepen. “I can’t do nothing forever.”
Why not? I want to ask. Move in, let me keep you. I want to .
“If this is about money?—”
“It’s not,” she says, strongly enough that I believe her. “I miss being productive. Even when I hated working at Helix, at least I felt like I was useful.” Her eyes flutter closed as I start to massage the tension from her shoulder. “I just wish going back to work didn’t feel so hopeless.”
“Ivy, I truly believe you can do anything you put your heart into. There’s nothing shameful about a job that pays the bills, but that doesn’t mean you have to consign yourself to one reality forever.” If anyone knows a thing or two about reinvention, it’s me. “Apply for something new. If they don’t like your résumé, they won’t interview you. If you don’t like the interview, don’t accept the job. Think of it like the masquerade. You’re simply trying it on for size.”
She nods with her eyes closed, sighing so sweetly I have to abort whatever plan my cock begins crafting. I give her shoulder one final squeeze before pulling my hand away.
When it becomes clear that Ivy plans to continue her job search from the comfort of my couch, I decide there’s no point putting off my own work, either.
There’s a flurry of Pulse notifications when I log in. I check the statistics from my last upload, and they’ve doubled again. It seems “Guarding the Princess” is on track to be the top audio on the platform this month, and I have requests for sequels piling up.
A new prompt catches my eye, tagged under boyfriend , which I’ve been avoiding for a while now.
Truly, the jokes write themselves at this point.
Curious, I open it. It’s an anniversary setup; lovers celebrating by trying something new, and while I would normally scroll past, the idea snags my attention.
How would I do it? Ivy and I— if our ruse wasn’t fictional— would have a year’s worth to catch up on.
I’d start with something grand. If something’s worth saying, it’s worth saying as loudly as possible. How did Ivy phrase it? With my whole chest. Yes, that’s how I’d tell her how I felt.
For a while, I sit with my fingers hovering over the keys. It’s a wonder Ivy doesn’t question it, but she does lean her weight farther into me, humming a tune I’m not familiar with.
I’ve been purposefully avoiding my own desires when working— it’s too easy to blur the professional lines in a job where I’m simulating what I sound like when I come— but if I’m honest, I’ve been using it as an excuse to avoid it outside of work as well.
But it’s not difficult to imagine what I’d want.
Beside me, Ivy is slowly repurposing her résumé into an online application, wearing a stern look, as though she’s preparing for battle. Despite her objections, she’s forging ahead, unafraid to face the consequences, and I find myself wanting to do the same.
If the wife I imagine as I write so happens to have black hair and a penchant for trouble, then who will know but me?
Once I’ve opened the floodgates, it’s simple, and two hours later, I have a draft I don’t hate and two more started. It’s been years since words flowed this easily.
I stand, stretching my back with a groan, and boil the kettle for a second round. Ivy is grumbling as she fills in application after application, swearing every time she has to re-enter “the same goddamn information that’s in my résumé. Seriously, it’s like they don’t want me to apply.”
I lean against the kitchen counter and watch her, liking how well she fits. It’s an intoxicating future, one I never gave myself permission to imagine before, where I could find someone who accepted what I do, who I am.
Hell, she’s met my family, and she’s still here. That alone makes her incredible.
I have no interest in a life built around wealth, but a life built around her? That is something I can aspire to.