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She was scared at first and has taken a job at a coffee house until they get paid, which is absurd since my bank balance has too many zeros for her to ever worry about money. But she’s not up for sharing when it comes to that. Yet.
They’re giving it a shot, and I’m sure they’ll succeed. I’m so fucking proud of her.
She shuffles into the kitchen wearing only one of my sweatshirts. Boy, do I hope there’s nothing underneath.
“Coffee.” Her tired, hungover voice never fails to make me smile. I never want her to feel like shit, but my girl cannot handle her alcohol.
I hand her a strong coffee, and she’s steps into my arms, laying her head on my chest.
“I’ll never get used to this,” she whispers.
“You say that every day.”
“Because it’s true. Who would’ve thought we’d be here?”
“I did. I hoped,” I tell her, running my hands over her back.
She lifts her head, and her eyes shine, looking at me like I’m her entire world.
“Come on, drink up, beautiful. I want to get moved and christen the new place.”
Her brow rises. “Is that all you can think of?”
“While you’re wearing this, yes,” I say, running my hand along her bare thigh where my top ends.
She laughs and slaps my arm away. After taking a sip of coffee, she says, “Cheese is burning.”
“Shit!” I twist around and take the tray out of the grill, smiling to myself at the sound of her laughter behind me.
I’d burn food every day to hear that sound.
“Good thing you have a big cock and a pretty face because you’re a crap chef,” she says, poking the crispy, brown parts of the melted cheese.
“Ains, hurry up and eat,” I say, shaking my head and grinning at her. She makes me so fucking happy, even when she’s teasing me.
I leave her in the kitchen trying to kick a hangover, and I go outside. The hire van is in the drive, so I roll the door up and start loading boxes down one side. Once Reggie eventually turns up, he helps take the bed apart, and we put it on the other side. I could do it myself but the wounds are still healing.
It’s only when we’re almost done that she materialises, shielding her eyes with one hand as she steps outside. In the other is the dead sunflower.
“Need a hand?” she asks.
Reggie and I both give her the same look.
“An hour ago would’ve been great,” Reggie says, pulling the door down and locking it.
“Oh, you’re done.” She runs her finger over the curled petal. “Sorry. Are we leaving now?”
I nod. “I’ll lock up and post the key through the door. You get in the van.”
She doesn’t listen, and I’ve come to accept that. Unless we’re in bed, she’s stubborn as hell.
“My aunt and uncle are coming tomorrow. Think we’ll have enough done by then?”
“We’ll make it happen. Who needs sleep?” I turn to her as I lock up. “You’ll be fine after that nap.”
She lifts her hand, gives me the middle finger, and gets into the van.
I laugh as I post the keys through the letterbox. The landlord couldn’t even be bothered to show up. I think he’s still pissed that I made him install an alarm after the break in. One that her mum is serving six months for, with her dad also back inside, awaiting trial for attempted murder. I’m not sure if he’ll get tried for the break in, but that pales in comparison to stabbing me three times, the prick.
