The space was exactly what I’d expected—neat, organized, and completely devoid of personality. The furniture was nice but generic. The walls were bare except for his law degree and a few professional certificates. Even the kitchen looked barely used.
This wasn’t a home.
It was a place to sleep between work.
I moved through the apartment methodically, gathering things I knew he’d want. Clothes first—I filled two large duffel bags with sweaters, jeans, pajamas, and the soft loungewear I found tucked in the back of his closet. There was a worn hoodie that looked like it had seen better days, and I made sure to pack that too.
While I knew he had the clothes I’d bought him, along with the pile of mine he hoarded, I knew him having some of his own things would boost his mood. It also aided the possessive side of me to think of more of his belongings making their way onto the ranch.
It would be less to move later if things worked out between us.
In the bathroom, I found his preferred toiletries. Expensive shampoo that smelled like him, a specific brand of toothpaste,a lotion he clearly used regularly based on how much was gone from the bottle.
The bedroom yielded more treasures. A battered stuffed animal—a rabbit with one ear slightly chewed—had been shoved to the back of his closet on the top shelf. I pulled it down carefully, noting the way it had been loved and held.
This was coming with me.
Under his bed, I found a box. I almost didn’t look inside, not wanting to invade his privacy, but something made me lift the lid.
Inside were books. Not legal textbooks or case studies, but children’s books. Classic stories with worn covers that had clearly been read multiple times. And beneath those, a few coloring books—untouched, like he’d bought them but never given himself permission to use them.
My chest ached.
I packed the entire box.
In his living room, I found a throw blanket that didn’t match anything else in the apartment—soft and blue with little stars on it. It was tucked behind a pillow on the couch like he’d hidden it away. That went in the bag too.
The last thing I grabbed was from his refrigerator. A magnet held a photo to the door—Tanner, probably ten years younger, with an older couple I assumed were his parents. They were all smiling, and Tanner looked happy. Carefree in a way I’d never seen him.
I carefully removed the photo and tucked it in my pocket.
By the time I finished, I had three full bags and the box of books. I loaded everything into the truck and headed back to the ranch, my mind already working through how I wanted to arrange everything.
When I got back, it was nearly nine o’clock. I could hear voices in the kitchen—Tanner’s among them—and I smiled. He’d listened and stayed put.
I carried everything upstairs quietly, managing to get them into the room without being seen. I laid some of the items out and hung up as many of his clothes as I could. The rest would need to be folded for storage in the dresser. I left them on top of the big piece of furniture to get them out of the way.
After I finished, I went back down to find my boy.
He was at the kitchen counter with Sean and Beau, the three of them laughing about something. Tanner had a mug of coffee in his hands and a genuine smile on his face.
“There he is,” Sean said when he spotted me. “Tanner was starting to worry you’d run off.”
“Was not,” Tanner protested, but his cheeks turned pink.
I walked over and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Morning, bud. Did you eat?”
“Harlan made French toast,” he said, pointing to his empty plate. “It was amazing.”
“Good boy.” The praise slipped out naturally, and I watched the way his breath caught, the way his eyes went a little soft.
Beau made an exaggerated cooing sound. “You two are disgustingly cute.”
“Ignore him,” Jackson said, walking into the kitchen and wrapping an arm around Beau’s waist. “He’s just jealous because I didn’t make him French toast this morning.”
“You can’t cook like Harlan,” Beau pointed out.
“Minor detail.”
