"What if I promise the spreadsheet stays in my phone and I don't mention it?"
"Connor."
"Fine. No spreadsheet." I pulled out my phone anyway. "But we're stockpiling meatballs."
"Deal." She grabbed the phone from my hand and set it on the counter. "But not today. Today we unpack. Tomorrow we figure out furniture."
"Okay." I looked around at the boxes, the work ahead of us, the life we were building. "Where do we start?"
"Kitchen," Hannah said decisively. "If we can't make coffee tomorrow morning, we'll both be useless."
"That's just good planning."
"See? I'm learning from you."
We spent the next few hours unpacking—me organizing the kitchen with more precision than strictly necessary, Hannah teasing me about my spice rack arrangement.
By sunset, we'd made decent progress but were both exhausted. The kitchen was mostly unpacked, the bedroom hada mattress on the floor and mismatched sheets, and we'd found the box with the coffee maker—the most critical discovery of the day.
"Come here," I said, taking Hannah's hand and leading her to the window.
The Brooklyn Bridge stretched across the East River, the setting sun catching the cables and turning them gold and rose. The city lights were starting to come on, reflecting off the water.
"That bridge really ties the room together," I said.
Hannah laughed, leaning into me. "Did you just—"
"I've been waiting to use that line since we signed the lease."
"You're ridiculous." But she was smiling, slipping her arm around my waist. "Do you like it? Really?"
"I love it. And I loveyou." I pulled her closer, looking at the bridge, thinking about the Golden Gate, about my mom. "She would have loved this view. My mom. She always said home wasn't a place, it was the people you chose to be with." I turned to face Hannah. "I think she'd be happy I found mine."
Hannah's eyes were suspiciously shiny. "Connor McNamara, are you getting sentimental on me?"
"Maybe."
"Good. Because I'm stupidly happy right now." She kissed me, pulling me toward the bedroom. "Now let's christen this place properly."
Later, lying on the mattress on the floor, Hannah's arm heavy across my shoulders, her breath warm against my neck, I thought about all the lists I'd made over the past year. All the planning and contingencies and desperate attempts to control the uncontrollable.
I'd been so focused on making sure nothing went wrong that I'd almost missed the part where everything went right.
Hannah sighed in her sleep, her weight anchoring me in place.
Through the window, the bridge glowed against the dark sky.
Not too cramped. Not too much.
Just right.
