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Tommy is certainly all about giving.
“So, this is your apartment,” he says, his fingers absentmindedly twirling my hair as we bask in the simple silence.
“This is it. All ten square feet of it,” I reply. “Your place is better.”
“Your place is quaint and it smells like pizza. I’m kinda into it,” he teases.
“Stop giving me shit. Not everyone can have a best friend who owns a vineyard and allows them to build a fucking dream house on it.”
“It’s your dream house?” Tommy now asks, rolling over to look at me, his eyes scanning my face.
“Come on, it’s everyone’s dream house.”
It’s the kind of house that puts HGTV to shame. It’s the kind of house that you could find yourself not wanting to leave, ever. It’s decked out with luxury bathrooms, an upscale kitchen with marble counters and stunning black cabinets. Even if it’s not your style, it’s the kind of house anyone could appreciate, especially when you take in the view.
“Then move in with me,” he simply states without even giving it a moment’s hesitation.
“I decided I wasn’t going to do that anymore,” I reply back, not even realizing how stupid that sounds. It makes me sound trashy and cheap, like that’s how I’ve lived my life up until now. And while that’s slightly true, okay, it’s a lot true; he doesn’t need to know that.
“You’re lumping me in with all those assholes you’ve dated now?” Tommy asks, and I can’t tell if he’s genuinely offended or if he’s giving me shit. “Who’s the judgy one now?”
He straddles my hips, taking my wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head. He looms over me with his hard eyes and his disheveled curly brown hair and for a split second I feel like I might cry.
He’s perfect.
“I’m not going anywhere, Penny. We’re in this together whether you move in with me or not. Whether you one day marry me and have my babies, or not. I will be here even if everything we do is unconventional and everyone on the outside thinks it’s weird. You know why?” he now asks, and I shake my head, the words stuck in my throat, my heart racing at what I feel coming.
“Because I’m fucking falling in love with you.”
A heartbeat of breaths passes between us, the silence floating in the room as his words echo in my head. I hear them, loud and clear and with so much truth, so much truth because I feel it too.
“I’m falling in love with you too.”
I throw my arms around his neck and pull him to me, kissing him, my lips touching every part of his face.
“Then move in with me. Have my babies. Start a business with me. Be my wife,” he says laughing with each word.
“You’re crazy!” I call out to the room, my words loud as a giddy feeling of excitement washes over me.
“Crazy fucking in love with you, Penny Cartwright!” he yells back, making me laugh even harder. “Let’s start our business and help Jack open Apple Jacks and throw an epic fucking party that you organized.”
“Everything is falling into place,” I whisper, wondering if saying it too loudly will make it all disappear.
“It’s not going away. You’ve worked for this. I’ve worked for this. We deserve it. We deserve each other.”
I shake my head, trying not to laugh at just how adorably cheesy he is right now, but I understand it. I feel it just like he does.
“And we don’t have to make mead forever. You can work in the tasting room and tend to the bees or if you never want to work again, you don’t have to, but all I want is you to do what makes you happy.”
“Being with you and working at the vineyard makes me happy. Everything else that has come along is just an added bonus,” I tell him, my hand now resting on his cheek, our eyes focused on each other.
He leans down, kissing my forehead, his lips resting there for a few seconds as we both bask in this moment of pure, raw honesty.
“Speaking of the tasting room,” I now add, wrinkling up my nose as I try to figure out how to say this. “I think I got hit on by a swingers couple the other day at work. Either that or they’re looking for someone to join a threesome.”
“What?” he coughs out, caught off guard by my announcement. “You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you?” he now teases, pinching my side. “But you gotta fill me in.”
Sometimes I think my imagination runs a little too wild, but what fun would it be if I just acted like that couple were tourists visiting the vineyard. They weren’t, that was obvious, but what they were doing there is completely open to speculation.
