Page 181 of My Real Love Affair

“There’s a show I’ve been wanting to see,” Melody said. “At the Winter Garden Theatre. Would you want to go?”

“What show?” She named it, and I nodded. “Let me make a call. I’ll get us tickets.”

“Austin, you don’t have to make a call, cash in a chip or whatever you rich people do.”

“I want to. Let me spoil you a little. And it’s not about cashing in anything. I’m just going to ask if there are tickets available.”

She bit her lip, then nodded. “Okay, but I don’t want you to take someone else’s tickets.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re rich and people like you take what they want.”

“I think I’m offended.”

She kissed my cheek. “You should be.”

“We can go to my brother Dane’s restaurant for dinner.”

She looked thoughtful. “You told me but I forgot.”

“Edge.”

“Oh! Yes! That would be amazing. Again, aren’t they always booked up?”

I gave her a dry look. “It’s my brother.”

“But I don’t want to bump someone’s reservation.”

“He keeps an open table for family,” I said. “With a family as big as ours, you never know when someone is going to drop in. And if that’s not available, we can eat in his office.”

Melody smiled. “That sounds perfect. I can’t wait.”

She leaned against me. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. We sat like that for a while, comfortable in the silence. Sitting on her couch in our underwear eating sandwiches and making weekend plans shouldnothave felt as good as it did. But somehow, it felt better than any yacht trip or exclusive party ever had.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“That I’m having just as much fun here with you as I did in Tahiti.”

She tilted her head to look at me. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s the best thing.” I kissed her forehead.

She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, finding some cooking show we both immediately started making fun of. As the afternoon stretched into evening, we stayed like that, half-dressed, completely comfortable, doing absolutely nothing special. She worked on editing photos on her laptop while I scrolled through my phone. We ordered takeout for dinner because neither of us wanted to move. We watched TV and talked and laughed.

It was mundane. Domestic. Normal.

And it was perfect.

“Stay tonight,” she said as we were cleaning up the takeout containers.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. I like having you here.”

“I like being here.”

I did feel like I belonged in her home. In her life.