“What are you doing?”
“Why do you have three shelves dedicated to coffee mugs?” she asked.
“I need options.” I walked over to the refrigerator.
“No one needs eighteen coffee mugs, Wes.”
“I do.”
“You absolutely do not.”
I leaned against the counter and watched as she reached for the mug she’d designated as hers. It was a cream colored one she’d bought from a bookstore gift shop that read:
I like my men like I like my literature: emotionally available.
“Why was this pushed all the way in the back?” she asked.
“Jennie must have rearranged the cabinet,” I said.
“Then you need to have a talk with Jennie and tell her to leave the cabinets alone,” she smirked.
“Noted.” I nodded.
“You know, hot guy, if you got rid of some of these mugs, you’d have room for actual food.”
“I have food.” My brows furrowed.
She stepped down from the stool and opened the pantry.
“Really?” Her brow raised, for it was practically empty.
“Okay. Once it’s filled, there won’t be a need to clear out my mugs to make room for more food.” I grinned. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving,” she said, resting her head on my chest as my arms wrapped around her.
“We can order?—”
“No.” She lifted her head. “You’re going to learn to grocery shop. Go get your shoes on.”
“You are one bossy lady.”
“And yet, here you are.” She flashed a devilish smile.
Sam and Zoey spent a lot of time here over the past couple of months. It was mostly on the weekends, but with an occasional night or two during the week. They both moved around my home like they already lived here. Dinners together and homework done in the corner of the couch, Zoey claimed as her space. My bathroom already housed women’s shampoo, conditioners, razors, makeup, hairbrushes, and toothbrushes. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And when they left to go home, the house felt empty and lonely.
Sam placed her hand on the refrigerator handle. Before she could open the door, the words stumbled out of my mouth.
“Move in with me.”
She froze for a moment and then slowly turned around.
“What?”
“You heard me,” I smirked.
“Did Weston Castile just ask me to move in with him after I totally criticized his coffee mug collection? No,” she said.
“No?” My brows furrowed.
