My heart beats faster, the admission settling deep in my chest.
“It’s not fair,” he continues. “And I know you don’t want to get married just yet, but I want to help, and this way, you’d have thebest of both worlds. Your own private space, but also…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely to encompass the rest of the house. “Us.”
I don’t respond. I just keep looking around the room.
I’ve spent a year trying to break out of the molds other people built for me, and now here I am, standing in a house that’s just waiting for me to move in. It would be so easy to say yes, and my heart wants to. God, does it want to, but my head keeps asking the same question.
Who are you without him?
“There’s one more thing I need to show you,” he says, breaking the silence. “Come on.”
He leads me back downstairs and through the kitchen to a set of sliding glass doors. “The backyard.”
We step outside onto a wide, freshly stained deck with a built-in outdoor kitchen and plenty of space for a table and seating area.
“It’s not much now,” he says, his hands stuffed in his pockets, “but I’ve got plans. Maybe a hot tub in that corner with string lights over the deck.” He gestures to the far right. Then he points toward a flat patch of grass near the fence. “And over there, I was thinking of putting a swing set in for Ella.”
I lean against the deck railing, taking it all in. The backyard lights stretch far enough that I know there will be plenty of privacy here. Ella will have the perfect space to play and grow up.
“What do you think?” he asks, hope clear in his voice. “Could you see yourself here?”
“Of course I could,” I say with a harsh laugh. “How could I not? It’s the perfect place, Zach. You’ve made it everything I could ever want.”
“Then why are you crying?” he asks gently, placing his hands on my hips and crouching so he can look into my eyes.
I turn my head and wipe away the tears, feeling foolish. “You want to give me everything, and I just don’t know if I can giveit back.” I drop my gaze to my hands, not wanting to see Zach’s reaction. “It’s just a lot.
“I know,” he says softly, pressing his forehead to mine, grounding me the way he always does. “But we've always been a lot, haven't we? From day one.”
That makes me smile. “True.”
From the second he asked me if I was into role play, nothing was simple between us.
“Just think about it,” he whispers. “No more creaky floors. No more noise complaints. No more hiding in your dorm. I want you to feel like you can breathe without having to worry that someone is talking shit about you.”
“And you think moving in is going to suddenly fix that? No more whispers? No more side-eyes? I move in with you and magically I’m not the girl dating the most eligible bachelor on campus?”
He doesn’t blink or flinch. “No. But at least here you’re loved and not sleeping two feet from people who hate you.”
My eyes soften, and for a moment, I waver. Because he's right—Iamloved here. Desperately, completely loved. But is that enough? What if this doesn’t work out? Then I’ll be back where I started.
“You can build me the nicest cage in the world, Zach,” I whisper, “but it’s still a cage if I lose myself inside it.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Anger. Hurt. Maybe both.
“Is that really what you think this is?” His voice is quieter now. “You think I’d build this life just to trap you in it?”
I look down, worried I’ve offended him.
He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing the side of my face like he’s trying to remind me who I am. Who we are. “You wouldn’t disappear, Honey. Not here. Not with me. You’re the only thing at St. Michael’s that feels real to me, and I just want to protect you.”
And that’s the real problem because if I agree to step into his world, I’m not sure I’ll ever want to leave.
Without warning, he kisses me, slow and deep, making me lean back against the deck railing. I respond immediately, my hands sliding into his hair as I pull him closer.
Just like that, every question, every reservation leaves my mind because all I feel is how good we are together, and how right this feels.
His hands slide under my shirt and his fingertips dig into my hips as he lifts me so I’m sitting on the railing. “You should be here,” he murmurs against my jaw. “In this house. In the bed upstairs.”