We stay like that for a long time, until I can pull it together and wipe my face with the back of my sleeve. He does the same thing to his own eyes, but neither of us mentions it.
By the time the last box is where it needs to be, and the sun has started to set, Mike has contributed exactly one box from thetruck to the house before declaring his back hurt and returning to the couch.
His back doesn’t hurt.
He just wanted to sit with Iris.
I should be annoyed about that, but now that I’m finished, he’s tucked himself against my side, his arms around my waist, and his head resting on my chest, half asleep standing up, and I love him so much.
“Y’all staying for dinner?” Nate asks, opening the fridge even though it’s empty.
“We’re staying,” Mike says, hugging me tighter.
“I guess we’re staying.”
Nate nods, watching us. “Good.”
Iris appears from the living room carrying paint samples. “Should we order a pizza?”
Mike lifts his head slightly from my shoulder. “I’m tired. We should go check out our room while we wait for the pizza.”
Our room.
My heart lights up at those words, Mike making himself at home with my family. I couldn’t ask for anything more. “Yeah,” I say. “We should.”
We make it halfway up the stairs before Nate calls out, “Door stays open!”
Mike pulls me up the rest of the stairs, and when we get to the room, we don’t leave the door open.
He leans back against it, looking at me with hooded eyes, his bottom lip between his teeth. He reaches for me, and I crowd his space, grasping his waist and I kiss him properly, for the first time today.
When we pull pack for air, he looks at me with those icy eyes and that grin that makes my heart melt. “We’d better break it in, don’t you think?”
“Uh-huh,” I agree, kissing him again.
It takes me way too long to notice the sound of the music that’s been playing steadily in the background, being turned up a little bit too loud.
Epilogue
The bar is loud.
I don’t know why that surprises me. I’ve been to shows here before. I’ve stood in the crowd and watched Mike’s band play hundreds of times.
I know what it sounds like from out there, but this is the first time I’m hearing it from up here.
The stage lights are warm on my face, and I can feel a low vibration through my whole body, into the guitar hanging off my neck.
My right hand is on the strings instead of my left, my left hand ready to strum. It’s all backwards from everything I used to know. It still feels sort of strange, even a year in, after practicing every single day.
But it’s all worth it.
My fingers find the chord without me having to think about it.
Three months ago, Mike sat beside me on the couch and listened to me play a whole song from start to finish without stopping, and when I finished, he was watching me with this look he gets when I play.
Probably the same one I get when he plays for me.
“You doing okay?” Mike’s voice comes from beside me. I can barely hear it even though he’s shouting.
