He also left his old coffee table and his mismatched lamps. That’s because from now on, he’ll be enjoying the lovely sofa Sayla and I used to share. Plus our coffee table and ourmatchinglamps. I sink onto his couch, and, blessedly, this one is actually more comfortable than the one at the house.
Theirhouse.
Bridger eases himself down next to me, and I let out a small moan of satisfaction. “We did it.”
He reaches for a fist bump. “We did.”
“Honestly? Thanks.”
“Honestly? Welcome.”
He nods toward the bedroom and arranges his face into an encouraging smile, because of course he does. Bill Nye the Science Guy. Most encouraging man on the planet.
“The mattress makes it official,” he says. “You live here now.”
“Temporarily,” I add.
Emphasis ontemporarily.
There’s just too much unknown for me to think long-term about anything right now. My dad’s future independence is way up in the air. So are my future finances. We’re already stretched too thin as it is. All I know for sure is the future of my heart. I’ll never riskthatagain.
Been there, done that.
And this is why—while Sayla and Dex sipped cocktails in Hawaii—I packed up my stuff and vacated the premises.Theirpremises.
Of course, they’d both told me, repeatedly, that I could live with them for as long as I wanted. There are two bedrooms in the house, after all. But being separated from the newlyweds by only one thin wall didn’t sound like a solid plan. Like I need a reminder of my own failed engagement.
I’d probably cry every time I heard them laughing behind closed doors.
Iwas supposed to be laughing behind closed doors.
So I begged Bridger to help me move before they came home and tried talking me into staying.
Spoiler alert: he said yes.
He hops up from the couch now and disappears into the kitchen, returning with a water bottle and a brown paper bag. He sets the bag and bottle on the coffee table, then drops his big body down next to me again, this time practically breaking Dex’s couch.
Mycouch.
“Here. Take. Eat. Drink,” he says.
How come he gets to smell like sandalwood, and I smell like sweat?
“Don’t be a bully,” I say. But my nose detects the scents of sugar and heaven wafting from the bag. So I peek inside and discover half a dozen apple cider donuts from Cataloochee Mountain Coffee.
A grin finds my lips. “When did you do this?”
He ducks his head, playing bashful. I know this move. He pulls it out anytime someone compliments him.
“It’s not exactly roses, candles, and champagne,” he says, his eyes sheepish. “But I knew Dex’s fridge would be empty, so I sneaked this in while you were taking one of your many, many pee breaks.”
“Many, many?” I snort. “Good to know you’re counting.”
“Hard not to notice.”
“Ha!” I squeak. “But you didn’t have to?—”
“I know I didn’t.” He cuts me off. Not unkindly. More like arguing with him is futile. “You forget to feed yourself when you’re stressed. And I figured today of all days, you’d be …” He lets his voice trail off.