And I’m weirdly surprised by how fast she agrees.
For weeks it’s beennext time,it’s a mess,my roommate’s sick,you don’t want to smell what she cooks, trust me.
Every excuse delivered with a laugh and a kiss and suddenly I don’t care anymore.
But now?
Just… okay.
I tell myself that’s a good thing.
Maybe I’m the one being weird.
Maybe I’m the idiot for letting the guys get in my head.
Tony with his,You’ve never even seen her place?
Mark with,That’s kinda sketch, man.
Like they’re trying to poke holes in something that’s perfect.
Like they want me looking for problems.
Why am I looking for problems?
Everything’s good.
Everything’s more than good.
So I shake it off and drive.
The streets get quieter the farther west we go.
Less glass.
More brick.
Tree-lined sidewalks and old brownstones with iron railings and little potted plants on stoops. String lights draped between balconies like someone’s permanently hosting a dinner party.
It’s actually… kind of cute.
Warm.
Homey.
Not sketchy at all.
I glance over at her. “This is nice. Where’s the laundry and take out place?”
“Oh?” Her nose wrinkled. “I was just joking.”
Sage never jokes. But okay… Maybe she’s wealthier than me? And didn’t want to make me insecure?
“This is really nice.”
She smiles, small and secretive. “Yeah. It’s quiet.”
She directs me down one last street and points.
