“I mean it. I have my apartment in Brooklyn. I like it. It suits me.” It’s the first place I’ve ever lived on my own, and while it’s not in the nicest neighborhood in New York City, it’s mine.
He drags in a long, patient breath. “And you agreed to stay with me five nights a week. Why can’t you just move your stuff in, and if you ever decide to stay at your apartment, you’ll bring a change of clothes. Just seems easier.”
I purse my lips and blow an exaggerated puff of air out through them. “I said I’d stay with you, not move in with you.” Is he crazy? Things have been fast—and wonderful—but he can’t seriously think I’m moving in with him already.
“Same thing.” He smiles softly at me, and I know he’s playing the game. Push and push until I’m exhausted and can’t refuse him. He’s sneaky, but I see right through him.
“Totally different,” I tell him, though watching the hope drain from his eyes makes me want to change my mind.
“Drew—” I start before he cuts me off.
“I know this is fast,” he looks away and takes a deep breath, “and scary. It is for me too. But it’s just right. Never have I fallen so fast and so hard for someone and just known this is how it’s supposed to be.” I see the vulnerability in his eyes as he says this and my heart swells. “Please, Gracie. Waking up this morning and not having you there drove me crazy.”
“Then it sounds like you need a therapist.” I’m being sarcastic, but his eyes widen and he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“I don’t need a therapist, Gracie. I need you. I need to know you’re going to be at our house when I wake up in the morning, or when I come home from work late, or on the weekends. I want you to cook in that kitchen—”
I cut him off. “You do not want me to cook anything, trust me.”
He laughs and squeezes my hand. “I want you there with me. I understand your need for space, and I’ll give you space when you need it, but I about lose it whenever I know you’re in Brooklyn and I’m in Manhattan.”
“I can take care of myself,” I interject.
“I know you can, but maybe I want to take care of you.” He pauses and gives my hand another squeeze. “Please.” The man is damn near begging and I swear to God he’s breaking me down.
I let out a longsuffering sigh. “I don’t even have anything to move. You saw my closet; it’s literally twenty-four inches wide. I have like seven shirts, a dress, and some jeans.”
One side of his mouth quirks up, like he was hoping I’d say exactly that. “Then let me help you stock the closet at our house.”
“You keep saying our house, like it’s ours. It’s yours, Drew,” I correct him.
“It’s ours, Gracie. I saw the way your eyes lit up in that kitchen. I saw the way you ran your hand over the countertops, the way you twirled around in the rain on that terrace. That place is ours. I get it, I see your reservations. We’ve only known each other a week. It sounds fucking insane. I know, Gracie, but…I’m ready for this. Already. I can’t see myself in that place without you.”
I look at our intertwined hands and my heart flutters in my chest. How did this man capture my heart in one week? He acts like my flaws are cute quirks, treats my baggage like it’s his own. His tenderness has broken my walls and cut through the deep spaces in my heart I didn’t even know I had.
“And I know you want to keep your apartment, Gracie—”
My jaw tightens, my stubbornness and independence rearing their ugly heads. “Don’t tell me to give it up. I won’t.”
He holds up his hands. “I’ve been thinking about this but was hesitant to share it with you. Just hear me out. If you lived with me and didn’t have the apartment, your rent money could go toward the debt you’re working to pay. You could double your payments and maybe get ahead for the first time. It’s a win-win on all fronts.”
It’s a good argument, and I chew on it for a moment, but I just can’t. “No. That place is the only thing that I’ve accomplished on my own and I’m so proud of that—”
“As you should be,” he interrupts. “But are you going to put your pride before your finances?” He raises an eyebrow at me. As much as I want to continue arguing with him, it’s a lost cause, because he’s right. He’s always right.
I hate it.
I love it.
And…I love him. I do. I can tell myself over and over again that I don’t, but I do.
“My lease is up in two months. Let me consider it at that time.” I tip my glass toward my lips and finish my glass of wine, then hold out the glass to Drew and he refills it.
“What do I need to do to convince you?” he asks, setting the bottle of wine back in the ice bucket.
I mull it over for a minute. “I’ll agree on one condition,” I say, and take another drink of wine.
His lips twist into a small yet victorious smile. “What’s that?”
“We put a library in the office.”
“Deal. This is just the beginning of great things, Gracie.” He slides out of his chair and pulls me from mine before pulling me into a caring embrace.
“I hope so,” I say, pressing a kiss to his lips. “But I’m not getting rid of my apartment yet,” I remind him.
“Yet.” He winks at me.
Everything is happening so fast. I walk into the office at seven thirty in the morning and Aaron is setting up a makeshift office in one of the empty offices next door to Drew, and by eight o’clock, a man shows up asking for my apartment keys.
Of course, Drew is nowhere to be found. He dropped me at the curb, left with his cell phone pressed to his ear, and barely a kiss to my cheek. I’m hesitant to give a stranger my key and, therefore, access to the few possessions I actually own, but the man stands, impatiently tapping his work boot on the carpet and showing me a work order that states he’s to pick up my key and move my stuff today.
You’ve got be fucking kidding me, I growl internally.
“Just give him the damn key, G,” Jamie says with an eye roll. “If anything goes missing, you know your boyfriend will gut him.” The man suddenly stops tapping his toe and looks at Jamie.
“He mob or something?” His thick New York accent is on full display.
“Something like that,” Jamie says, flicking her long hair over her shoulder.
I roll my eyes and pull the small keyring from my purse and toss it into the man’s calloused hand, mumbling a prayer under my breath that he doesn’t steal anything from me. Not that anything is worth a dime, but it’s mine.
He winks at me. “Don’t worry, doll. No one is going to take shit. Work order says to box all clothes, toiletries, and two bookshelves.”
“Bookshelves?” I reach for the paper in the man’s hand and rudely take it from him. “No. Those stay.”
“Says it right here.” He points to the bulleted list of items Drew told him to move.
“Ignore what it says,” I bark at him. “Bookshelves stay.”
He eyes me hesitantly. “Yes, ma’am.” He twirls my keyring around his finger and takes a step back. “Anything else you can think of that needs to be moved?”