Checkbook.
Old watch—the one Erin insisted I buy right before things ended.
My Tag Heuer, still boxed, untouched.
But the papers?—
My bills aren’t in the order I left them.
I remember clearly paying my Verizon bill last. And leaving it on top so I could submit it with my expense report. It should be on top.
Instead, my credit card statement is there and the BMW lease booklet stub I send in monthly with a check.
I stare at it for a second.
Then shake my head.
She probably needed a pen. Or scratch paper for the recipe?
Nothing.
It’s nothing.
I close the drawer carefully this time.
Out in the living room, Sage laughs at something on TV.
I breathe.
Everything’s perfect.
And I don’t let myself question it.
The night stays easy.
Easy like breathing.
We walk to Blockbuster hand in hand, arguing about movies we’ve both already seen. End up grabbing two “just in case,” plus candy we definitely don’t need.
Back home, we curl up on the couch.
Her legs over mine. My hand tracing lazy circles on her thigh.
Half the movie goes unwatched.
She keeps glancing up at me like she’s memorizing my face.
I don’t think I’ve ever had this before.
Not like this.
Not quiet.
Not soft.
Not someone who just… stays.
Later, we stumble into bed laughing, kissing, slow and sweet and unhurried. No rush. No heat like the boat. Just warm and close and lazy and comfortable.
