“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just... take care of it.”
“I will.”
They pulled apart. Luke was smiling, soft and fond, watching them figure things out.
“So,” he said. “Anyone want more tea? Or should we celebrate with something stronger?”
“Something stronger,” both sisters said at once.
And Luke laughed, and opened the good wine, and they sat together in the kitchen that was becoming Meg’s real home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Anna had been right.
Meg stood in Luke’s kitchen, coffee warming her hands, and finally let herself see what her sister had pointed out. Her laptop charging on the kitchen table, in the spot that had somehow become “her spot.” Her sweater draped over the back of the couch. Her running shoes by the door, next to his sandals. Her organizational system slowly colonizing his bookshelves.
She hadn’t been “staying over.” She’d been living here. She just hadn’t admitted it to herself until Anna said it out loud.
When she’d started staying at Luke’s more, she’d said—and believed—that it was to get away from the chaos. From Anna and Bea and all the paint.
But it wasn’t that.
The realization hit Meg while she was looking for her favorite coffee mug.
She’d checked Luke’s kitchen cabinets three times before she found it—third shelf, behind his mismatched collection of marine biology conference mugs. She pulled it out, filled it with coffee, and was halfway through her first sip when the thought arrived, fully formed:
I know where my mug lives in his kitchen.
She stood very still, coffee warming her hands, and looked around.
When had this happened?
She tried to remember the last time she’d slept at her own house — Sam’s house, Anna’s house now — and couldn’t. A week ago? Two? She’d been “staying over” at Luke’s so often that staying over had become just... staying.
“You’re thinking loudly.”
Luke appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair still damp from his shower, wearing the faded UCSD Marine Biology shirt that was soft from a decade of washing.
“I’m having a revelation.”
“Good revelation or bad revelation?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Meg gestured at the kitchen with her mug. “When did I move in?”
Luke’s mouth quirked. “Technically? About six weeks ago. That’s when you stopped taking your toothbrush home.”
“I left it here for convenience.”
“You left your electric toothbrush, your skincare routine, and a drawer’s worth of clothes.” He leaned against the doorframe. “That’s not convenience. That’s residency.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I was hoping you’d figure it out yourself.” He crossed to the coffee pot, poured his own cup. “And because I didn’t want to spook you.”
“I don’t spook.”
