When I finished he beamed at me. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be the best crisis-line advocate in existence.”
“You have to say that because you’re my boyfriend.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.” He squeezed my hand. “You’re understanding, you have perspective, and you know how to listen. You’re exactly the kind of person someone needs when they have no idea where to turn. You got your melon-baller hand, Ollie. You’re taking your softness and shaping it into something valuable and lifegiving for someone else.”
“Dammit, Luke. You’re going to make me cry all over the throw pillows.”
“You know,” he said, glancing at them in consideration. “They’re criminally under-loved. A little emotional baptism might do them some good. I’ll get a box of tissues for moral support, but just say the word if you require the big-guns comfort package.”
“And what’s included in the big-guns comfort package?”
“We’re talkin’ baked goods, served warm, with your choice of apple cider or hot chocolate, followed by a relaxing massage with mood lighting and appropriate atmospheric soundtrack. We can close the evening with a thematically fitting movie, dealer’s choice. Bonus round includes a bubble bath with excessive levels of suds.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“So you don’t want baked goods?” he asked. “Because I may or may not have soft pretzels cooling on the counter right this very moment. Salted and cinnamon-sugar. I followed your recipe to the letter, so they should be edible.”
“If I recall, edibleness wasn’t the issue with your pretzels,” I teased, nudging him with my knee. “Their crime was more anatomical confusion.”
“Well then,” he said, rising from the couch. “Why don’t you come inspect them and tell me if my technique has improved?”
Following Luke into the kitchen, my eyes landed on the island finding it decorated in cloth-napkin butterflies and flowers. Arranged on two platters were the pretzels. As I stepped closer, I saw they weren’t ordinary pretzels at all. They had been shaped into hearts.
“I’ve discovered this is the foolproof way to avoid creating deformed abominations,” he announced. “What do you think? Do they pass mustard?”
I chuckled through an undignified blubbering sob. “Once again, you’re ridiculous.”
“Undeniably,” he agreed. “This has been established. But I am also deeply committed to giving you what you always wanted. Step one: establishing a secret language only the two of us speak. Romantic napkin origami. That’s how we shall silently communicate our love across rooms. Step two: giving Ezra and Micah a run for their money in the contest of nauseatingly sweet couples. I’d say our chances are pretty good that we’ll dethrone them. What do you say?”
Unable to hold back the swell of affection, I launched myself at him, kissing him with everything I had. He kissed back just as fervently, though the wide smile threatening to break across his face made it slightly clumsy. I didn’t care. It was perfect.
“Step three,” I said breathlessly against his lips. “I think it’s time I reconsider my living arrangements, maybe look into moving out of my room.”
“Uh... okay.” The middle section between his eyebrows wrinkled as he rubbed the back of his neck before his expression smoothed out. “I didn’t expect that, but I get it. You’ve foundyour wings and you’re ready to fly the nest. Follow-up question. Is this the moving proposal where I beg you to stay or should I start looking for boxes?”
“You gigantic dork. You really think I’d leave?” I said.
“So you aren’t moving?”
My precious Luke. I guess some things would never change. I’d have to spell it out for him. But I wouldn’t have him any other way. “Actually, I meant I should vacate my bedroom and move into yours permanently.”
I had witnessed countless variations of Luke’s smile over the course of our time together: the encouraging one; the languid, satisfied curve that followed moments of intimacy; the fond, wistful smile he reserved for when he talked about Carrie; the sly smirk that preceded his mischief; and the charming crooked half grin.
None of them compared to the brilliance that illuminated his features now. This smile was incandescent, a whole sunrise of awe, pride, joy, and unfiltered elation. So full both dimples revealed themselves, indents so deep I could pour wine into them and drink to the abundance of his happiness. Lifting me off the floor, he spun me in an exuberant circle.
I yelped a laugh, clutching his shoulders. “Luke, warn a man before you turn him into a Tilt-A-Whirl.”
He only laughed as he set me back on my feet but didn’t let go. “You mean to say, we’re going to have nightly sleepovers and all the mornings in each other’s arms?”
“That is indeed what I’m saying.”
“And make-out sessions, and spooning, and cuddles of all varieties? Octopus, koala, human burrito, sloth cling, the one where I drape myself over you?”
“As often as you want.”
“This is the best. Wait. Wait till you see this.” He grabbed my hand and practically dragged me up the stairs and into hisbedroom, beelining for the walk-in closet. He pushed the door open. “Ta-da!”
One entire half of the closet stood empty. And in the exact center of that open space hung a single flouncy button-up, the precise kind I went starry-eyed over. My heart turned into a performance ofSwan Lake, nailing all thirty-two of those famous turns with the commitment of a prodigy on opening night. A stunned squeaky sound escaped me as I looked at the shirt, then at him, then back at the space that so clearly had my name on it.
