“I know I asked you before,” I say. “And I know you weren’t ready. But I want to come home to you and… I want you to come home to me. Every day.”
Her head shifts on my shoulder. She doesn’t pull away. Her hand tightens slightly on the blanket between us.
She doesn’t answer right away. But there is no hesitation in the way she looks at me when she does.
“Okay.”
That is all.
As we lie in bed later, she tucks her leg around mine beneath the sheets, her breath slow against my chest. I watch the curtain shift in the wind and think—this is what it should’ve always been.
We leaveCape Cod behind and drive without stopping, the miles folding under us until Boston rises ahead. I head straight to Halford, turning toward her dorm.
I tell myself it’s practical, that we should take care of it before exhaustion makes the decision harder, but the truth is simpler: I don’t want to give her the chance to change her mind.
She laughs when I admit it aloud, equal parts indulgent and incredulous.
“You’re ridiculous,” she chides, and maybe I am. But I’m not taking chances—not after coming this far.
I follow her up to the room and pause at the doorway, watching as she takes it in—the bed, the books, the remnants of a life about to be folded away. For a moment, I let her have it, the quiet of closing a chapter.
But the longer I stand there, the harder it becomes to stay still. My fingers itch to secure proof that she’s really coming with me. So when she steps toward the closet, I move before I can stop myself.
“Sit,” I say, crossing the room. “Allow me.”
She obeys without protest, lowering herself onto the bed, cross-legged at the edge. Her easy compliance pleases me more than I’d admit.
I make quick work of emptying her life into bags—drawer by drawer, hanger by hanger. Each item folded, each shelf cleared,makes the room look less like hers and more like a place she only passed through.
Once the room is bare, the restlessness in me finally settles—the click of a lock turning, a plan sliding cleanly into place.
Olivia doesn’t own much. A few dresses, jeans, notebooks, her laptop, and a handful of toiletries—the bare minimum of a life lived in transit. It strikes me how easily everything she owns can fit at the back of my car.
When we carry the last of her bags through the narrow dorm corridor, a few of her hallmates peek out of their doors, murmuring with interest. They know who I am. They’ll talk. They’ll tell stories about how Olivia Bennett, the scholarship girl, is leaving the dorms to live with Nathaniel Caldwell.
I relish the thought. Let them spread the word that she’s mine.
Outside, I watch her take one last look at the building. There is something wistful in her expression, but she doesn’t say a word. She just gets into the passenger seat, and when I close the door behind her, it feels final.
By the time we reach Back Bay, evening has begun to creep over the city, the glass facades catching the last of the sun. Her bags are in my trunk, her keys in my pocket. It is done.
She’s coming home—with me, where she’s always belonged.
Now,I have Olivia right where I want her: in socked feet padding across the dark herringbone floor, methodically folding, hanging, and rearranging the small pieces of her life into the vast space that’s now ours.
This time, she doesn’t allow me to take over.
“You don’t have to stand there like a sentry,” she remarks, not looking up from the stack of sweaters she’s folding.
“I wouldn’t have to,” I say, “if you’d let me help.”
“You’ve done enough, my love.” She glances over her shoulder. “Besides, I need to get used to this space. To know where everything goes. If you do it for me, I’ll never find anything.”
I know she’s right, but it doesn’t stop this inner rebellion against the idea of her ever having to lift, carry, or tire. I want to make her life effortless.
“Fine. But only if you give me a kiss first.”
She rolls her eyes, but a smile breaks through. “You’re unbelievable.”
