I leaned back into him. Watched our reflection—this rumpled, middle-aged couple in a too-small bathroom, arguing about towels and shampoo like it was the most important thing in the world.
Six weeks ago, I’d been drowning in magical chaos, surrounded by ghost exes and disco enthusiasts, convinced Iwas incapable of choosing anything. Now I was bickering about toiletries with a man who’d seen me at my worst and decided to keep me anyway.
“What are you thinking?” Marcus asked, watching my expression in the mirror.
“That this is strange. Good strange. But strange.”
“The towel situation?”
“The… all of it situation.” I turned in his arms to face him properly. “Six weeks ago, I had forty-seven first dates worth of commitment issues and a phone that wouldn’t stop generating romantic options. Now I’m arguing about bathroom storage with a man I’m pretty sure I’m in love with.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. We’d been dancing around them for weeks—showing instead of telling, demonstrating instead of declaring. But there they were, hanging in the air between us.
Marcus went very still.
“Pretty sure?” he said finally.
“Okay, very sure. Completely sure. Terrifyingly sure.” I took a breath. “I love you. I probably should have said it before now, but I was scared that saying it would jinx it somehow, which is ridiculous because I don’t believe in jinxes, except apparently I do when it comes to?—”
He kissed me. Cut off my rambling with his mouth on mine, soft and certain.
“I love you too,” he said when he pulled back. “I’ve been waiting for you to say it first because I didn’t want to pressure you. Which is ridiculous because I’ve been thinking it for weeks.”
“We’re both ridiculous.”
“We are.” He kissed me again. “But at least we’re ridiculous together.”
From the bedroom, Tequila meowed his judgment of the entire scene.
“Coming,” I called.
“He just ate an hour ago,” Marcus said.
“He’s a growing boy.”
“He’s sixteen pounds. He’s a grown man.”
“Don’t fat-shame my cat.”
I extracted myself from Marcus’s arms and went to deal with Tequila, who was sitting next to his empty bowl with the air of a creature who had never been fed in his entire life and was mere moments from perishing of starvation.
“You’re very dramatic,” I told him.
He meowed again.You’re still the person who forgets to buy cat food.
“That was ONE time. And I didn’t forget—I just got distracted by the magical crisis.”
Excuses.
“You know what? Fair.” I refilled his bowl, scratched behind his ears.
You said the L word,he observed.Finally. I was starting to think you’d both choke on it.
“You were listening?”
I’m always listening. It’s what I do.He bent to eat, then paused.He’s good for you. The grumpy one. I approve.
“High praise.”
