“He knows, Simone. And even if he didn’t, that’s the kind of guy Finn is. I have to admit when he suggested free housing for our employees I thought he was on drugs, but I see the perks of it now.”
He chuckles at his comment and the movement of his body against mine makes me smile. Even when I’m crying, I find the guy kind of hot when he laughs.
“Now, what can I help you unpack?” He steps back from me but takes my hand and we stand in front of the large pile of boxes.
I survey the results of our trips this morning and admit the truth. “Well, half of these are probably shoes so I guess we can start there.”
“Great. I’ll go dump them in the closet.” He picks up a box with shoes written on the side. It’s a new box from the pile he brought today since Finn stole my original.
My heart rate jumps at his words and I rush to stop him. “Trey, these are shoes. Finn’s already dumped them once.” I wince at the memory. "They need to be loved, supported, and admired.”
He raises an eyebrow at me but puts the box back on the floor alongside the others with similar labels. “Okay, how about the kitchen?”
I almost nod my head, but then I remember the cat cup from our first night together in the Bahamas. I can’t let him see it. That cup says words I’m not quite ready to admit yet.
“No!” I catch his jerky reaction and try to cover up my hostile response. “I mean… not kitchen stuff. That’s boring. I have a box of pictures around here somewhere.” I start to scan the boxes in front of me frantically looking for the one labeled memories.
Trey’s hand reaches to the floor and pulls up my light brown leather laptop bag. “How about I set up your Internet?”
That sounds innocent enough. My computer can’t get me into any kind of relationship trouble. “Sure.”
He takes the bag to the small kitchen bar and sits at one of the stools. I go back to sorting boxes, but this time I stack them in piles according to those Trey can touch and those I must keep him far away from.
“What’s your computer password?” he calls from the other side of the open living space.
“Stevens1.”
“Really?” his question makes me raise my head.
“Yeah”
“If I can guess as much, so can probably every Internet hacker out there.”
I walk to the space on the counter and stand next to him leaning a hip on the side to watch what he does as he types in the password and starts messing with my settings.
“Yeah, Mr. Smarty Pants, what’s your password?”
“P34jst87.” He stops typing to give me a “so there” look.
“What? It’s random letters and numbers. How do you even remember it?”
His fingers go back to the keys. “I just told you. Therefore, I remember it.”
“Is this your inner nerd coming out?”
He laughs. “No, my nerd is when I argue who shot first — Greedo or Solo.” He hits the keys a few more times and then closes the screen. "Solo. Don’t believe anything the Special Edition tells you.”
I stare at him, but he doesn’t explain himself. “There you’re all set. Did you find more boxes for me to help with?”
