"I've just returned from a realtor in London." I watch his expression, cataloging every microshift.
"Did you buy a new house?" Confusion ripples across his features.
"I sold mine."
He stiffens, his arms loosening around me. "You what? Why? Is everything okay? Is the team—"
"The team is fine," I cut him off. "I sold it because I want to be close to a certain someone."
I look directly into his hazel eyes, watching as confusion gives way to something else, something hopeful. "Someone with hazel eyes." I trace my fingers along his jaw. "Fluffy beard." My handsdrift to his shoulders, and I pull myself closer. "Who gives the best hugs."
His expression transforms—confusion to shock to raw emotion. It happens in waves, like watching a sunrise in time-lapse. His eyes widen, then grow glassy, his mouth working silently before he finally manages words.
"Violet... Are you saying that you want to move in with me?" His voice cracks, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tight.
I decide to tease him, just a little. "Well, I was thinking of moving in with EJ, but his apartment is so small—"
"Violet." He growls my name, but there's laughter behind it.
"Yes," I say simply. "Brought all the stuff I had left at my penthouse. Impressive how all my life is only four boxes, nothing more."
He blinks rapidly, eyes scanning my face as if checking for signs that I'm joking. Finding none, his face breaks into a smile so bright, it could power the entire countryside. Then he's lifting me again, spinning me around in his doorway, his laugh vibrating through both our bodies.
"You're moving in. You're actually moving in." He sets me down, hands cupping my face. "With me. Here."
"That was the plan. Unless you'd prefer I didn't?"
His answer is another kiss, deeper this time, his hands tangling in my curls. His smile spreads against my lips, a slight wetness on his cheeks. When he pulls back, his eyes are shining.
"My Christmas present is shit compared to this," he says, thumbs stroking my cheekbones.
"What did you get me?"
"A cashmere scarf, and a signed first-edition of that engineering book you mentioned a couple of months back."
"That sounds perfect, actually."
"Not compared to this." He gestures between us, then toward my car. "Are those your boxes in the backseat?"
I nod. "Everything that matters."
"Let me help you bring them in." He's already moving toward my car, practically bouncing with each step.
I follow, watching as he opens a back door and lifts two boxes with ease. His forearm muscles flex, bulging through the tight-fitting hoodie. As I grab the remaining boxes, I notice he's already mentally reorganizing his space, talking quickly about where things could go.
"We can clear half the closet in the master bedroom—more than half, actually. And the second drawer in the bathroom is empty. The guest room is your office already, or we could set up something in the corner of the living room with that view of the track. Do you prefer the left or right side of the bed? I usually sleep on the left, but I can adjust. And we should get new sheets—"
"William," I interrupt, laughing. "Breathe."
He stops in the middle of his living room, boxes still in his arms, and takes an exaggerated breath. "Sorry. I'm just—" He sets the boxes down and runs a hand through his curls. "This is happening, right? You're actually moving in with me?"
"I am." I place my boxes beside his and step closer. "Unless you've changed your mind in the last thirty seconds?"
"God, no." He pulls me against him. "I just never thought—I mean, I hoped, but I didn't expect—"
I understand his surprise. I've been the cautious one in our relationship, the planner, the overthinker, the one who needs time. This impulsive decision is out of character for me. But watching him now, seeing the joy radiating from him, I know it's right.
"Maybe your recklessness has rubbed off on me," I say, fingers trailing along his chest. "This is the first time I've ever done something like this."
