My friend Joanna comes around the front of her truck carrying another box I forgot about labeled KITCHEN. After she reached out earlier this week, we’ve had a few conversations here and there via text. We tried to coordinate a time to get together, but she was busy all this week and I couldn’t do anything this weekend because of the move. Out of nowhere, she offered to come help. I tried to convince her that was absolutely not necessary, but somehow she convinced me that she loves decorating. Eventually, I gave in so she could help me set up my bedroom while we caught up and had girl time. I did not expect her to be lifting my heavy boxes.
“Jo, you don’t have to do that,” I try to tell her for the third time.
She just shrugs and follows Jamie into the house.
“How else do you expect our dear little Raegan to escape from this cruel, cruel world?” she continues, replying to Jamie’s comment about my books.
I give her a grateful smile.
Jamie is smirking when I enter the living room. “Yes,” he concedes, “but do we have space for all that escapism?”
“Of course,” Jo responds. She sets the box down and gestures to the room around her. “Look at all this space. Plus, I bet you’ve got plenty of space in your room.” She grins maniacally.
The banter may be at my expense, but seeing the two of them get along makes me happy.
We make our way up the stairs and Joanna spots a forgotten box of books by the stairs. “I’ve got it,” she calls out, then follows Jamie and I up the steps to my bedroom.
Inside, I gently place a tote bag full of knick-knacks on the floor next to the stack of boxes Jamie has created. Instead of adding to it, Joanna drops her box on the bed.
I hear a massiveCRACK, but before I can turn around, the damage has already been done. The bed frame has completely collapsed under the weight of the books, and the three of us stare flabbergasted at the now splintered wood protruding from underneath the mattress.
“Okay the books might actually be a problem,” Joanna deadpans.
I’m too shocked to speak, so instead, I just stare at the disaster me and my books have caused.
Yet, when I sneak a glance at Jamie, he doesn’t appear all that concerned. The exact opposite actually, he’s laughing.
“What the hell is so funny?” Joanna demands. “I was about to apologize, but never-fucking-mind.”
Jamie runs a hand over his face and rolls his eyes. “That bed was a hundred years old. It was my Nana’s when she was a kid.”
I knew this, but when Joanna and I glance at each other, thinking this detail should make the matter worse, Jamie starts laughing even harder.
After a moment, he manages to collect himself, hand splayed over his side as if clutching a stitch. “It was in storage after Nana died, but my mom insisted I put it in my guest room.” A chuckle overcomes him again, and this time it’s contagious. I can’t help but fight a giggle as Jamie leans his head back and continues to laugh open-mouthed at the ceiling. “I told my mom it would break if someone breathed on it wrong. Turns out it was Raegan’s smutty escapism.”
I roll my eyes and cover my face in embarrassment. Beneath my fingers I mumble, “I’ve slept in this bed a dozen times.”
“Yeah,” Jamie concurs, “but you’ve never thrown your full weight on it like it’s a trampoline.”
Now all three of us are laughing, but Joanna suddenly stops, holding her hand in the air to halt us. “Wait,” she starts. “Does that mean there’s only one bed in this house?”
The realization hits before her punch line even lands. Jamie doesn’t understand the significance, because he doesn’t read romance, but now my stomach is in knots. At this very moment, a moving company is hauling the bed from my apartment to the thrift store. I briefly consider calling and telling them to turn around.
Taking a nap with Jamie in his bed is one thing, but if I have to sleep next to him every night, my brain might actually short circuit with too many lustful thoughts.
Whether or not I want to take things slow, the universe seems to have a different opinion.
“Okay, while you two sort out whatever that means,” Jamie says, waving his hand between us, “I’m going to go grab your suitcase.”
“Wait!” I squeak. “What about the bed?”
He shrugs his shoulders, unconcerned. “You don’t need it.”
What in the name of Romance-Tropes does that mean?
I spendthe next few hours building my retrieved bookshelf in my new room and organizing all of my books by genre. After every book is put away, Joanna convinces me they’d look better in a rainbow pattern, so we spend another hour rearranging. After that, we move to the kitchen.
I’m happy to say that Jamie’s agreement to let me bring all my lemon decor has not wavered. Yet. I’m not sure he realized just how much I have, but I’m sure when he sees how perfectly the yellow accents match with the sage green color of his walls, he won’t mind.
