"You'll miss your closet more than me," he teases, voice too confident to sound envious.
I pad across the house barefoot and gesture at the cavernous walk-in. It dwarfs the closet I have in San Francisco.
"Have you seen it?" I demand, throwing my arms wide in full showmanship. "I need this. Non-negotiable. The only thingmissing is a crystal chandelier swinging overhead while I destroy it daily with my chaos."
"Uh-huh." He stretches out on the sofa, one ankle crossed over his knee, fingers laced behind his head. "What else would you want?"
I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you humoring me, or you actually want to know?"
Surprisingly, he shakes his head, without any smirk. "No, baby, I want to know. Tell me everything."
"Alright," I say, smiling. "We definitely need more lamps in here, soft yellow light, black shades, Parisian style, making our house look cinematic. By the entrance, we'd have dozens of frames, all sizes, with our random photos. Nothing staged. Also, we need a mirror in the bedroom. Big one."
"I like how you're thinking." He gives me a sly look.
I purse my lips. "I knew you'd say that."
I dash to the far corner and brush my fingertips across the buttery leather arm of an armchair. "Here—a grand piano. With a spotlight that throws light across your face while you play something tragic. Meanwhile, I sit here—" I skip to the other side of the woven rug. "Your very own tortured muse, writing."
"No," he cuts in smoothly. "You get the other bedroom as your study. Keep those crazy thoughts locked. Here? I watch my movies. Projector instead of TV. Obviously."
"Obviously." I parrot him.
He pretends to shoot me with an imaginary arrow, but I dodge it dramatically and dart toward the entry corridor, where a small round table holds a vase with fake peonies.
"Right here." I spin, palm thudding on the table. "We need a statement piece—something that steals breath the second someone walks in."
Ben stands, strolling toward me with that unhurried step. "Then you'd have to stand there all day. Be the statement," he smirks. "A silent one. Finally."
My lips purse. The rush to fling myself at him curdles into a sharp smack against his shoulder. "Keep dreaming. I'll blabber into your head until you die."
He laughs and catches my wrist mid-retreat, bringing it to his mouth to kiss my fingers. His eyes soften, unguarded. "You know I'll go insane once you're gone. This place without you will be empty."
"This place?" I frown. "But you'll be with your parents?"
He shakes his head slowly. "Doesn't matter. Life gets too quiet when you're not with me, and I hate that quiet."
I give him a quick kiss, but then pull back. "Why do I feel like you're not telling me something?"
He looks at me, hiding his true expression, then cracks a tiny smile. "You think too much. Ready for bed?"
I don't want to ruin our last night with a fight, so I exhale loudly and throw my arms around his neck. "Bed. But only if there's cuddling."
"There's always cuddling," he says and I smile, but in the back of my mind, I know...He's for sure lying to me.
36
"Emma," Ben whispers, his finger softly tracing my cheek. "Wake up, baby bird."
"What?" I groan, peeking with one eye. "Now? It's not even daylight."
"Exactly. It's the perfect night for it." His grin is alive while I feel half-dead.
He's already washed, hair combed to the side, and smells of mints and his cologne. But he's also only in his boxers and even though my vision is blurry, I can see very well why I'd be tempted to pull him back into bed.
"Whatever it is, it better be worth it. Could've sunk into two more hours of cuddling," I mumble against the pillow.
He smiles, says a brisk, "Come on, I have to show you something," and pulls down the sheets from my body.
