“Babe,” I reply, already plotting how fast I can clear out a drawer for her snacks, “I’ve never wanted anything more.”
Bramble dances around our feet, tail wagging like she understands exactly what’s happening. I scratch behind her ears, laughing as she leans into my hand.
“When?” she asks. “I mean, my lease is up in three months, but?—”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “Tonight. Yesterday. Whenever you want.”
“I can’t just leave Whit hanging like that.”
“I’ll pay your portion until she sorts it out.”
“Rowan—”
“I’m serious.” My hands frame her face, those green eyes locked on mine. “I don’t want to wait three more months to call this place ours. I’ve waited long enough.”
She nods. “I’ll talk to Whitley tonight. But you know she’s going to want to help me redecorate half your house.”
“Our house,” I correct, my thumb tracing her cheekbone. “And she can paint the whole damn place pink if it means you’re here.”
She laughs, knowing I absolutely don’t mean that. “I’ll make sure she knows your limits.”
“I don’t have limits when it comes to you.”
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a woman who owns three different waffle makers.”
“I’ve got plenty of kitchen space,” I tell her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She grins, eyes glimmering. “That’s the right answer.”
I don’t tell her that my kitchen has half as many cabinets as she’s picturing, or that I’m going to have to clear out my garage to make space for all her holiday decorations I’ve seen stuffed in her closet. It doesn’t matter. I’ll rebuild the whole damn house if it means she’ll stay.
“I love you,” I say, because it’s the truest thing I know.
“I love you, too.” She brushes her fingers through my hair, tugging gently at the ends. “Now, let me make you some food. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”
“I’m fine,” I protest, but she’s already moving toward the fridge, pulling out ingredients.
“Grilled cheese?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
“You spoil me.”
“Someone has to.” She flashes me a smile over her shoulder. “Otherwise, you’d live on protein bars and spite.”
I snort and lean against the counter. I could watch her forever, doing mundane things like making grilled cheeses.
She hums softly as she butters bread, her hair falling in a curtain over her shoulder.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch her smile before she hides it. “It’s just a sandwich, Rowan.”
“It’s not about the sandwich.”
Her cheeks flush pink as she turns back to the stove. “You’re getting soft on me, Wolfe.”
“Only for you,” I mutter, stepping behind her to wrap my arms around her waist. “Only ever for you.”
