"Then hold onto him," Maya says. "Men like that are rare."
"I plan to."
After the call, I shower and change into comfortable clothes. My apartment feels strangely lonely after three days with Justin. It’s too quiet, too empty.
I touch the snowflake pendant at my throat, and try not to text him. I won’t be clingy. I won’t be needy. I won’t…
I’m overthinking things again. Worried about being too much.
My phone buzzes and as if he can read my mind, it’s Justin.
Justin: Thinking about you.
Me: Good thoughts?
Justin: The best. What do you want for dinner?
Me: Surprise me.
Justin: Bold choice. I'll be there at seven. Be ready.
Me: Ready for what?
Justin: To tell me about your day. To eat a real meal. To let me take care of you.
Me: You're very bossy.
Justin: You like it.
Me: I really do.
I set the phone down, looking around my apartment with new eyes. In a few hours, Justin will be here. In my space. Meeting my life outside the snow globe bubble we'd created.
It should feel terrifying.
Instead, it feels like coming home.
I spend the next few hours tidying up and making my apartment presentable. I’m a bit insecure as I look around. My apartment is furnished with thrift store finds and my creative touches. Nothing is expensive or new, but it is homey. I’ve made a point to cover the furniture with matching slipcovers, to match the throw pillows with the colors in the rug. Every detail has been carefully chosen to create a safe space for me to escape to after a long day of work. What if he doesn’t like it? What if it isn’t good enough for Mr. Caviar and Champagne? When the knock comes at seven sharp, my heart jumps.
I open the door to find Justin standing there in dark jeans, holding bags of delicious smelling takeout and wearing a tight-fitting shirt that makes my stomach flip.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi yourself." He steps inside, sets the bags on my counter, then turns and pulls me into his arms. "Missed you."
"It's been six hours."
"Still missed you." He kisses my forehead, my nose, my mouth. "Show me your place."
I give him the tour of the small living room, tiny kitchen, and the bedroom barely big enough for my bed, a single attached bathroom with a shower that never gets quite hot enough.
"It's not much," I say. “I know you are used to better and maybe we should be meeting at your place instead of mine. I mean, I don’t even know if?—”
"Baby girl, stop. It's yours. I see you in all the details. That makes it perfect."
We eat dinner on my couch. He brought Thai food from the place I mentioned during one of our conversations this weekend. I’d mentioned my love for their curry and he’d remembered. He asks about my call with my friends, about my afternoon, about how I'm feeling.
"Overwhelmed," I admit. "In a good way. But still overwhelmed."
