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Scratched his chin.

Then with a growl of frustration, he bent down and picked up the coffee table, depositing it on top of his dining table to clear the living room space and give himself a blank canvas to work with.

He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did.

He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and bent down to roll his carpet into a tube, stacking it along the base of the bookshelf filled with plants. Rowan wasn’t a reader, but he was a plant daddy and the shelves were filled with his favorite children.

He was careful not to bend any stems or leaves as he positioned the carpet then got to pulling and dragging the couch across the floor to the other end of the living room.

He turned it so it was facing the windows, delighted to see it was completely bathed in golden sunlight. He straightened up, giddy with success until he realized the couch now blocked half the bookshelf and the plants at the bottom got very little direct light.

But the couch fit so well there.

He ran a hand over his head, breaking his hair tie in the process and sending his hair cascading around his face. It tickled and he hated it, but there was no time to dwell because he had to get the place in order.

He was absolutely not moving the couch again, so he started pulling out the plants hidden behind it and arranging them all over the living room so they all got their preferred amount of light.

He figured if he just…

The doorbell rang.

He froze.

He turned his head to look at the clock and almost fainted when he realized he’d spent nearly three hours dragging his furniture around for absolutely no reason. He’d had zero plans to rearrange his apartment before. He liked his apartment.

What the hell was he…

The bell rang again.

He rushed to the door and pulled it open before he thought about what he was doing, finding himself face-to-face with Milo. His brain did not implode whatsoever at the sight of Milo’s skin-tight jeans and the too-large zip-up sweatshirt that came down to the middle of his thighs. He scowled at the titty hat perched on his head.

“You didn’t have to dress up for me,” Milo deadpanned, scanning Rowan from head to toe, and Rowan felt himself flush when he realized he was sweaty, dirty from spilled soil, and his hair was tangled around his face. There was dirt smeared across his light gray T-shirt and sweatpants. He looked like a slob. “Or accessorize.”

Rowan looked down and realized he was still holding his croton plant in its bright yellow pot under his arm.

“I was just…” He motioned behind himself, trying to come up with something clever to say, because…what. He was just what? Uprooting his entire living space for no apparent reason? That wouldn’t make him sound insane at all. Milo had already made it abundantly clear he thought he was certifiable.

“I don’t think I want to know.” Milo pointed inside. “May I?”

Rowan froze.

Because not only was he dirty and sweaty and messy and holding a damn plant like a child, his apartment was a disaster zone.

“Um…”

“Are we doing this in the hallway?” Milo asked.

Admitting defeat, Rowan motioned for Milo to come in.

He walked in the way he did everything. Loudly, staring at everything. Dropping his tote bag next to the door, his shoes a few feet farther in, and his jacket over the first chair he had met along the way. He spent a moment looking at Rowan’s kitchen to the left and his dining room in the center of the large, open space, before deciding to go right into what remained of Rowan’s living room.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” he said, coming face-to-face with the aftermath of hurricane Rowan. “Very ‘abandoned site of a nuclear disaster’ chic.”

“Thanks.” Rowan scowled. He didn’t like Milo insulting his space. He’d put a lot of work into making it feel like a home and the jabs felt personal.

Milo frowned at him. “Is that one of the things?”

Rowan frowned back, setting the croton down in a beam of light. “What things?”