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We’re both so frantic that it only takes a few minutes before we spill over the edge, Elowyn coming with my name on her lips and her thighs trembling. Our damp clothes lay haphazardly all over the living room, looking like a bomb went off in a laundry basket. There’s a smear of lipstick trailing down to her chin, and both of us have hair like troll dolls. But it’s still the most fantastic afterglow I’ve ever experienced. And even if every day isn’t like this, the fact that some of them are is enough to make me feel like the luckiest man alive.
“Did we both just get everything we wanted?” she whispers, fingers grazing my cheek.
It isn’t as comfortable as lying in bed together, sprawled out with the pillows and sheets tossed in different directions. The entire apartment somehow still smells like grilled cheese. But there is something to be said for the romanticism of being tangled together on the couch, with my gorgeous girl, not really caring about the weird crick I’m going to have in my neck tomorrow.
I pause to think, rubbing my hand along my jaw. “I mean… mostly. I have my business. You have yours.”
“We’re together,” she adds, and I watch her brows furrow in thought. Maybe I’m still a little buzzed, but as nice as the mood is, there’s something she isn’t saying, and it’s making me worry that regret is starting to set in as she sobers up.
I shrug. “Almost as much as I want.”
Now her pert nose wrinkles just as much as her forehead.
“What does that mean?” Elowyn sits up, untangling her legs from my lap and straightening out to face me better.
The air thickens between us during a long pause. My breath stalls in my lungs as my tongue thickens at the prospect of asking the questions. Because her answer means more than I ever thought it would. “I think we should talk to the property management company.”
“About what?”
My blood is surging so hard that I feel like it’s trying to escape my veins. “Any chance you’d consider getting a two-bedroom and moving in together?”
Her smile lights up the whole room and then my heart.
“Of course,” she reassures me with a light slap on the arm. “You’re so silly.”
I tug her forward so I can press my lips to hers. “We’ve made it work before. We make good roommates as well as lovers because we started out as friends. We even learned how to successfully navigate a very small space. Not many couples can say that.”
“Yeah. But that was accidental. This time… intentional.”
It’s a valid point. There is always the possibility that things only worked so well out of necessity. If we learned anything from the past few days, it’s that going after what you want doesn’t have to be the scariest thing in the world. And sometimes, it can even work out in your favor. “Let’s call the property manager tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Elowyn
After we talk to the property manager, it doesn’t take long until the perfect place becomes available. It’s a two-bedroom on the next floor up, right on the corner so it has a ton of huge windows. The first time we step inside, the apartment is a little cold, like a refrigerator, but nothing we can’t handle. Everything is clean, and the walls are freshly painted.
And since we’re staying in the same building, they’ve been pretty lenient about shifting the paperwork around for us. Neither of us have very much to pack. Most of Weston’s replacement things are still in the boxes and bags that they came in, and my place is so small that all I have to worry about is the couch, a dresser full of clothes, the kitchen odds and ends, and that damn closet. Most of my stuff can be easily stowed in a few storage bins for transfer.
From the start, I puzzled over Weston’s insistence on a two-bedroom apartment. Our relationship took root in the modest confines of my tiny apartment, an unlikely greenhouse where our love blossomed amidst the cramped quarters. We mastered the art of cohabitation in that small space, a dance of careful footwork and shared rhythms. Surely, a standard one-bedroom apartment would offer ample room for us to live and love.
I originally assumed Weston’s preference for a larger space was driven by a need for privacy, and then I worried that he was trying to close himself off again. I admit I even felt a twinge of anxiety at the thought. But any doubts were laid to rest during our tour with the landlord.
As we walked through the rooms, Weston suddenly began to visualize aloud. He measured out spaces with his hands, picturing a desk here, a bookshelf there. He asked me about my needs for my gifting business—the sort of shelving I preferred, the amount of light I required for taking photographs, and the ideal setup for my work.
That was when the lightbulb flickered to life. He wasn’t seeking a buffer zone from our relationship. No, he was creating space for me to flourish, nurture my business, and have a dedicated corner of our shared world where I could focus on my work. His intentions were not born of a need for distance but of love and consideration.
His intentions were unlike anything I had experienced before. In the past, the men in my life had, consciously or not, stifled me—quelling my dreams like flickering candle flames in a gust of wind. But this man, he was different. His actions were not about erecting barriers or keeping me at arm’s length. He wanted to empower me.
His gesture shone with unprecedented respect for me as an individual, for my work, and for my aspirations. It was an act so profound, so thoughtful, that it filled me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love. It was a testament to our relationship, a testament to the man he was. He understood me, respected me, and loved me in a way no one else ever had.
Overwhelmed by this realization, I kissed Weston right there on the spot. The sheer force of my emotions poured into that kiss, leaving him surprised, delighted, and slightly dazed. I noticed the property manager blushing from the corner of my eye, quietly chuckling. My embarrassment quickly melted away, replaced by the warmth of Weston’s concern for my happiness.
Before the end of the month, we’ve inked a new lease, and moving day rolls around. We’re both a bundle of nerves. Mom and my sisters are stopping by later to help, and it’ll be the first time they’ve officially met Weston. It feels like today is the first day of a new chapter of our lives, and we’re both determined for it to go off without a hitch. There’s a knock at the door, and we each jump. Weston is the one who heads to the door to answer it, and I’ve never been happier to hear Banjo’s voice in my life.
Banjo saunters into the room, a cheeky grin on his face and a box full of donuts clutched in one hand. He’s wearing his favorite t-shirt, sleeves cut off just right to show off his biceps.
“Somebody needed a little extra muscle?” he asks, flexing his arm like Popeye.
