NORA
I'm wrappedin sheets that smell like him—cedar and soap and something uniquely Nate—my head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
His fingers trace absent patterns on my shoulder, and he's smiling even though I'm not looking at his face.
I can feel it in the way his chest moves beneath my cheek.
"You're staring at the ceiling again," I murmur.
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About how you're actually here." His hand stills on my shoulder. "In this bed. In this house. How this isn't another dream I'm going to wake up from."
I tilt my head up to look at him and my heart swells.
“It’s not a dream." I say, leaning up to kiss him.
"Good." He kisses my forehead. "Because I have seven years of mornings to make up for."
I laugh softly, then prop myself up on one elbow, looking around the room properly for the first time. Large windows facing east to catch the sunrise with built-in shelves along one wall.
"Nate."
"Hmm?"
"This house." I gesture around. "It's everything."
"It's not finished yet?—"
"No, I mean—" I sit up fully now, pulling the sheet with me. "The windows facing east because I always wanted to wake up with the sun?” My voice catches. "You remembered everything.”
He sits up too, back against the headboard, looking almost shy.
"I might have kept that friendship contract we made."
"The one from when we were like five?”
He runs a hand through his already messy hair.
“I had it in a box with other stuff. I used to pull it out sometimes when I was designing this place. Wanted to make sure I got the details right."
I stare at him. This man.
“You built this house from a contract two kids made?"
"I built this house from a promise," he corrects gently. "That one day, when we were older we’d grow old together in."
Tears prick my eyes.
"You're ridiculous."
"You love it."
"I do." I lean in and kiss him, slow and deep. "I love it. I love you. I love that you're insane enough to spend three years building a house from a friendship contract."
He grins against my mouth.
