Page 129 of Sparks Fly

But after I showed up at her apartment with my bags still in hand and told her I couldn’t go home, something shifted.

One weeknight turned into two, sometimes three. Some nights at my place. Others at hers. We didn’t plan it. We just did whatever made sense after the day we’d each had.

Her apartment was smaller than mine. Darker. The furniture didn’t match, and there was usually a coffee mug somewhere it didn’t belong or a sweatshirt draped over the couch.

It was messier than my place.

And I absolutely loved it there.

Most weekdays, I texted her around six.

Are you home? Busy?

She always told me to come over. By the time I arrived, she usually had music playing while she finished whatever she had been working on. I’d kick off my shoes, drop my purse somewhere, and settle in. Then somehow, I’d end up staying the night.

Weekends changed too. Friday nights stopped feeling separate from Saturdays. I’d show up after work, and suddenly it would be Sunday afternoon, neither of us quite sure where the time had gone.

Saturday mornings stretched longer than they used to. Coffee runs, errands, farmers markets. Me answering emails at her kitchen table while she disappeared into the workshop and came back smelling faintly like metal and sawdust.

One night, she looked around her apartment and laughed.

“You know you have the bigger, nicer place.”

I smiled over the rim of my wineglass. “I do.”

“So why are we always here?”

“Because your place is cozy.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Addison.”

“And you have the workshop.”

“Addison.”

“And it smells like you.”

That shut her up.

Sundays became negotiable. Sometimes I left in the afternoon because I had work to do, only to call her an hour later from my couch and ask her to come over.

We weren’t living together.

But we were starting to orbit each other.

My charger appeared beside her bed. One of her hoodies permanently migrated into my closet. My shampoo showed up in her shower.

Neither of us commented on any of it. It just happened. Like we were making room for each other without needing to talk about it first. We learned each other in the overlap. I knew when she needed a distraction. She knew when I needed quiet.

Some nights, we barely talked. We sat on opposite ends of the couch doing separate things while our legs touched between us. Other nights, we stayed up far too late talking about nothing.

Even when we weren’t together, we were still threaded through each other’s days. Texts and calls. FaceTimes that started with one quick question and somehow lasted an hour.

Sometimes we fell asleep on the phone. Sometimes I woke up alone and already knew when I would see her again.

That was the biggest difference.

Not urgency.