“I can’t wait to let you be loud.”
She lies there, watching me move around the room. I snag a stray Maplewood FD T-shirt from a drawer and walk back to her, holding it up.
“Arms up,” I say, and she sits up to let me ease it over her head.
She peers down at it through her hair. “Claiming me now?”
“Fuck yes.” I tug her against me as I climb back in. “Stay with me, Pen.”
Silence stretches, and she laces her fingers with mine.
“I don’t want Elle confused,” she says softly. “But I don’t want to pretend nothing’s happening, either.”
“We’ll keep it slow,” I say, pressing a kiss to her neck. “But I’m done pretending this is nothing, too.”
She answers with a contented exhale. “Then I’m done pretending that mirror isn’t trouble.”
I grin against her hair. “Next time, lights on.”
She laughs, snuggling back into my chest. “Better nap first, then, firefighter.”
“Penny.” I tighten my arm around her. “Stay. All night.”
“Okay,” she breathes.
“You can sneak out to the other bedroom before she wakes if you like, but until then…”
“Until then, what?”
“You’re mine.”
She nods, and her breath evens out quickly, warm against the circle of my arms. Around us, the night is quiet, but inside my chest, everything feels louder and calmer all at once.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, the night feels too short.
Chapter eighteen
The perfect fit
Penny
It’s been two weeks.
I know this because I’ve folded the same pair of jeans five times and still haven’t taken them back out to the guest house. I pass it every morning when I wrangle Gus from the backyard, and every morning, I tell myself I should spend a night back in there.
I haven’t.
The first night after we slept together, I fell asleep on the couch by accident. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. We were halfway through some action movie Evan swore was a classic, my head tipped against his shoulder, and his hand idly tracing patterns along my arm.
But I woke up at three a.m. in his bed. He must’ve carried me there. His hand was splayed warm over my stomach, cheek pressed into my hair, and breath fanning against the back of my neck.
I lay there for a second, aware of the guest house across the yard waiting for me, but I didn’t move.
The second night, we didn’t even pretend it wasn’t going to happen. Or the third, or fourth, or fifth.
Dinner still happens at six-thirty, and Elle still drowns her pasta in cheese. On the nights he’s home in time, Evan lets her get away with it for all of thirty seconds before stealing half of it off her plate. Bath time is loud, her pajamas rarely match, and she negotiates for extra pages at bedtime.
Her routine remains solid and unchanged. Life continues as usual for her, but it’s what happensafterthat shifts. When we turn off Elle’s bedroom light, and Evan’s hand finds mine in the hallway.
