I head home first. Neither of my sisters is home, mercifully, so I don’t get bombarded with questions. It’s only the cat that watches me with suspicion and worry. I take a sweep around the house, grabbing a few specific items. I put a lot of thought into them. What has the most soul? What’s personal to me? One by one, I pick some winners. I load it all into my truck before returning to the house and packing an overnight bag.
Presumptuous?
Of course not. Why couldn’t I spend the night at my boyfriend’s house?
Just the thought pastes an unhinged smile on my face.
Boyfriend. For Willow Vale? Who would have ever thought such a thing possible?
Checking the time, I shoot off a quick text.
Can I come over once you’re done with your show?
There are only ten more minutes until Lucky has to go on stage. But he replies almost instantly.
Yes! Whenever. Always.
There’s a swarm of butterflies that is unleashed in my stomach as I read his words. I heart the message, slip my phone into my back pocket, and head back out to my truck.
I have one more stop. And it’s going to take some time.
By the time I roll into the parking garage at Lucky’s building, I’m practically giddy. I have so much shit to haul that I have tofirst track down one of those luggage haulers. Piece by piece, I unload my truck and stack it all on the roller. And then, very carefully, because I have precious cargo, I make my way to the elevator. It’s nearly midnight by the time I ring the doorbell, and I’m grinning like a fucking loon.
Because tonight? I’m not just staying over.
I’m moving in a little chaos.
The door swings open, and Lucky’s standing there in black joggers and a white tank top, hair damp from a post-show shower. He grins when he sees me—wide, wild, the kind of grin that makes me feel like I’m the prize at the end of his night.
And then his eyes drop to the luggage cart.
There’s a lot there to analyze.
Overnight bag. A blanket, candles, mugs, crystals. An oversized cage with a small, twitchy occupant inside.
His grin collapses into utter confusion. “What the actual fuck?”
“Surprise!” I sing, pushing past him with the cart before he can even decide if he’s letting me in.
He stares, frozen in the doorway, while I wheel my chaos straight into his pristine, soulless penthouse.
First order of business: I pull out the blanket from my cart and toss it across the back of his leather couch. “This place is giving depressed and ready-to-run vibes. We’re fixing that.”
Next, the candles. I plop them onto his immaculate marble counters, lighting one with a flourish. “Instant coziness. Less morgue, way more sexy séance.”
Lucky finally closes the door, stalking after me like he’s not sure whether to laugh or call security. “Willow. What are you doing?”
“Decorating.” I toss him a look over my shoulder as I set a hunk of rose quartz on his coffee table. “Your home is a soulless prison. Your place needs life. Personality.”
I spin toward him, only to walk right past him to retrieve the extra set of teacups I brought with me. I set them up in a corner of his kitchen, making a mental note to pick up a kettle. Finally, I turn, hands on my hips. “And more importantly, you need some love, always waiting for you at home.”
Before he can even process that, I bend, open the cage, and scoop up a ball of fur and ears.
Lucky’s eyes widen. “Willow. No.”
“Yes.” I march right up to him, cradling the beautiful white rabbit against my chest, and plop it into his stunned arms. “Meet your new roommate.”
He stands there, holding it like it’s a live grenade instead of an adorable ball of the softest fur I’ve ever felt. “You bought me… a rabbit.”
