“Hey, do we need a waffle maker?” he asks, stopping in front of one.
I chuckle. “Are you domesticating yourself today, Halsey?”
He looks me up and down and then back at the waffle maker. “What if I am, do you have a problem with that?”
“Not even a little.” I walk up behind him and put my arm around his waist while he inspects the waffle maker. “If you get one, we can get some of those Kodiak Cakes mixes that have extra protein in them.”
“Then it’s sold, we’re getting a waffle maker.” He scratches his chin. “Now the question is, which one? Two plates or four?”
“Four,” I say. “That way we can eat together rather than me eating my two while you wait for two more to cook.”
His eyes meet mine as he says, “Fuck, you’re so smart,” and then he plants a huge kiss on my lips, which only makes me smile.
“You didn’t haveto get these pre-built,” Halsey says as he stares at the bookshelves we purchased. We bought an L-shaped bookcase that fits perfectly in the nook of the living room. I also surprised him with a reading chair and lamp that I bought on my own. Something he wouldn’t buy for himself, but that he absolutely loves. He’s also mentioned it will be perfect to fuck me on as well.
Not mad about that either.
“You weren’t going to build this by yourself.”
“You would have helped me,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, that’s where you’re wrong. I would not have helped you. I’m not into building or getting frustrated with each other over the assembly of furniture. Now let’s load your books on the shelves. The only thing we need to talk about is how you want them organized.”
“I don’t care.” He shrugs. “Just stick them on there.”
I clutch my hand to my chest. “Dear God, Halsey. I’m not even a big reader and I know that’s sacrilege. You can’t just stick the books up there. There needs to be purpose to it.”
“Why though? I don’t care.”
“Clearly, given where you’ve been storing all of your books, but now that they’re going to have a new home, let’s treat them with some decency. Now your choices are as follows: we can group them by author, or genre, or by color.”
“What do you mean by color?” he asks.
“Well, don’t let me influence you, but it might be fun to do what the Home Edit does.”
“What the hell is that?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “I should have known, given the state of your apartment when I arrived. The Home Edit are two ladies that have revolutionized the way we organize our houses. Their claim to fame is turning everything into a rainbow. So if you have a bunch of crayons, you organize them into rainbow order. Or books . . . you group them by color and put them in rainbow order.”
“Huh.” He glances down at the books. “Yeah, that might be nice. Although, there are a lot of black spines.”
“That’s okay, we can stack those up high and hopefully the more colorful ones will be at eye level.”
“That works for me,” he says as he starts picking up books and sorting them by color.
I start helping him but he stops me and says, “You’re not doing that right.”
“What do you mean?” I look down at my small piles.
“You’re not doing it with your shirt off.”
I roll my eyes and swat him away. “Don’t be a pervert.”
“Baby, when you have a girl like mine, it’s hard not to be a pervert. Now take off that top and those shorts. I want to see the goods.”
I look him up and down. “Only if you do.”
Eyes on me, he reaches behind his head and pulls his shirt off. Then he pushes his shorts down, leaving him in just his boxer briefs.
