He nods, pressing a kiss to my stomach. “I’ll make dinner.”
Even though I know some distant part of me wants to be scared of the domestic nature of all of this, a much bigger part of me wants to embrace it. I want nights like this with him. I want open conversations and encouraging each other to chase our dreams. I want to watch movies that scare him and hold hishand during all the jump scares. I want him to keep trying out new recipes and asking for my feedback. I want all of this.
“Don’t pick a horror film, please,” Evan says, leaning back into the couch after grabbing a handful of popcorn from his bowl. I’d offered to share my mixed one with him, but he’s one of those psychos thatonlyeat salty popcorn.
“How about we compromise and watch a thriller?” I ask, choosing a streaming service to look for a movie.
“Thriller adjacent.”
“Thriller with no gore.”
I watch him carefully, and a smile tugs up on his lips. “How about a romcom?”
“I love romcoms with the girls, but that’s only because they would never sit through a horror film with me,” I mutter. I flick through the selection of films and find something that’s rated 15, so it can’t bethatscary.
“No,” Evan says immediately when the trailer plays.
“This is me compromising, Branson. Take it or leave it.” I flick to another one, this time it’s rated 18 and is based on a true story. My eyes light up with glee and I turn to him slowly, painting on a creepy smile.
He grabs the remote from me, changing it back. “Okay, okay. I’ll take it. Go back to the other one.”
I grin, snuggling deeper into his side as we press play.
EVAN
Scarlett has a habit of making me feel calm. I don’t know how she does it since she’s spent most of our lives terrorizing me, but it works. Maybe it’s the sweet but teasing things she says to me when we’re hanging out. Or the way she calls me ‘Ev,’ not having any idea how it makes me feel inside. Or the way she traces her finger against the lines on my palm when my hands are shaking.
Maybe it’s the look she’s giving me now, well past three in the morning as we sit up in bed and talk. We’ve not been talking about anything important. Just drowsy ramblings that have become my favorite part of sleeping together.
I let her stare at me until she takes my head between her hands like I’m something delicate and presses a kiss to my forehead. I sigh into her touch before she tilts my head back up and catches my lips with hers.
Everything about the way Scarlett kisses me is unreal. It feels like she’s breathing life into me whenever we kiss. Like I didn’t fully exist before her. Everything about this kiss is tame and smooth and perfect.
We slide back down under the covers, and when I think she’s going to turn to go back to sleep, she props her forearms on my chest, dropping her chin to her hands, staring at me.
“Hi,” I whisper, and she breaks out into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
“Hi.” She kisses my forehead again, longer this time, before retreating. “You’re perfect, you know that? Everything you say. Everything you do . . .” She leans back to look at me, resting her chin on my chest again. “You are sunlight, Evan.”
I grin despite the way my heart glows in my chest. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re in love with me.”
“You don’t know any better,” she mutters, but she doesn’t take her eyes off mine when she adds, “And I am in love with you, Evan. Like, so much that it makes me sick.”
I laugh quietly. “Mm. Poetic.” She blows a raspberry at me and drops her head to my chest, pressing her face right above my heart. I kiss her forehead, pushing her hair out of her face, and whisper, “I love you too, Scarlett.”
“Yeah?”
“So much that you can’t even imagine.”
“Say it again,” she whispers into my shirt, clutching at me like I might slip away from under her. “Please.”
“I love you,” I whisper, kissing her hair again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I can feel her heart beating hard against my chest. I run my finger along her spine, going down and then back up as she settles into me. She sniffles into my shirt, her voice shaking when she asks, “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” I say. “I’ve loved you for years, Scarlett.”
“How?” she asks, her voice soft and quiet.
