“Oi!” I shout down from the balcony, spotting a shock of ginger hair and a familiar bag. “Future Mrs. Maddox!”
Charlotte’s head immediately twists in my direction, and her face splits into a smile.
And just like that, I’m gone, clattering out of the apartment and not even wearing a pair of socks, barreling down the stairs and almost falling flat on my face again, throwing the door open just as Charlotte arrives outside.
She looks startled to see me, but I only catch the look on her face for a split second before I’ve wrapped her in my arms, pulling her flush against me, getting a whiff of her coconut shampoo, and I’m kissing her, and it feels so goddamn good to kiss her, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been this in love with her.
Charlotte lets out a startled squeak against my lips, but it quickly turns into a giggle. Her bag hits the ground and her arms wrap around my neck, like she can pull herself even closer to me. Her lips curve into a smile as she kisses me.
“Hey, you,” she murmurs.
“God, I missed you.”
She giggles again as she kisses me once more. “You don’t say?”
We break apart for air when someone clears their throat.
It’s Mr. Harris, raising an eyebrow at us and trying not to look too smiley at our soppy display.
“You kids want to take that inside? Or farther outside? Six feet, remember? You’re blocking the way.”
We both look around and see an older couple dithering on the stairs, not sure if they’re allowed to scoot past us. I give them a sheepish smile, while Charlotte doesn’t even blush. I pick up her bag and we stand to the side to let them out, before going inside to our own apartment. I wrap an arm around her waist, like I can’t get enough of her—because, well, I can’t.
“Hang on,” I tell her, stopping her as she gets to our door. I might not be athletically inclined, but I can manage to scoop her up, bridal style, to carry her two feet through the door before setting her back down. Charlotte can’t stop laughing, or smiling, and I love it. I love her, so much.
“Watch it, or I’m going to start expecting this sort of treatment all the time.”
“Well, you know, I’m only doing it for the YouTube views,” I joke back, and then she’s folding herself into my arms to kiss me again, and I have never been so happy to screw something up so badly in my life.
apartment #15 – isla
Chapter Forty-three
“So this is . . . ”
“Weird, right? And . . . ”
“Totally crazy?”
Danny laughs, looking a little relieved that I’m on the same page—but, mostly, excited. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
My heart is beating fast, but I can’t stop smiling. This is crazy. I must be crazy for even suggesting it; and Danny must be crazy for agreeing to go along with it. A week of total isolation from the rest of the world has driven us both utterly and completely bonkers.
It’s the only explanation for it.
Why else would we be agreeing to move in together for the foreseeable future, after only dating for a month—well, five weeks now?
Definitely, definitely crazy.
Danny was slow to get his things together this morning, and I could sense his hesitation. Finally, he asked me when I thought we’d see each other next. The general guidance to the public has gotten a lot stricter in the last week, leaving us faced with the idea of spending the next several weeks apart.
I feel like Danny and I have got to know so much more about each other this last week, so much faster than we might have done otherwise; and he’d told me that he thought the same thing. How else would I have known he brushes his teeth after breakfast (while I brush mine before) or that he folds his boxers so precisely after they’ve gone through the laundry, or that he likes rewatching old Trevor Noah videos for a quick distraction from work when he’s getting stressed over something? I didn’t even bother putting on makeup yesterday. And I managed to poop this morning without freaking out about the fact that Danny was in the apartment.
I’ve liked having Danny around. Well. All things considered, over-all, I’ve liked it.
So when he asked when we’d see each other next, I’d said quietly, “I don’t know,” and he’d said, “Yeah. It’s weird, isn’t it? I’m—I’m going to miss you, Isla, a lot.”
And then I’d been staring at him and thinking how bloody handsome he was and how I was most definitely in love with him, and how much more difficult it would be for us to keep our new relationship going if we couldn’t see each other or really spend any time together, and he’d been looking at me like he was thinking the same thing, and . . .
Well, here we are.
Being utterly crazy.
And moving in together. At least, sort of, for now.
I can only imagine what all my friends and my family are going to say when I tell them. Although Maisie said it wasn’t the most ridiculous thing she’d heard this week; I guess I do have some serious competition there.
I know it’s wild, and a huge step we might not be ready for . . .
But, I guess, on the other hand, if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll know sooner rather than later.
And I just like him so darn much.
I love him.
I love him!
“Just a month,” Danny says, trying to be serious, his lips pressed into a firm line even though his eyes are glittering at me.
“Thirty-day trial period,” I confirm. “Like Amazon Prime.”
He laughs. “I’ll be sure to mention that in my epic proposal speech viral video.”
“The one you’ll have the skywriters for, in front of the Eiffel Tower, right?”
Danny cups my face in his hands before peppering it with kisses, leaving me giggling and blushing, and swooning when his lips close over mine. His beard tickles my cheek, but I kind of don’t hate it. It’s actually a really cute look on him. It makes him look older; it’s quite distinguished, actually. I rest my hands against his chest, broad and firm, loving the way the rest of the world stops existing when he kisses me. I feel almost light-headed, delirious, but in the best way possible.
I could spend a lifetime kissing this guy.
When we break apart, his arms are still wrapped around me, and he nuzzles his nose against mine. “And you’re definitely sure about this?”
“Only if you are.”
“As long as you still promise to cook dinner a couple nights a week.”
I laugh. “What, like my special cinnamon chicken last night didn’t put you off for life?”
Like it was my fault he’d decided to tidy up my kitchen to make it a little more cooking friendly (talking about the “flow” of it, like I had any clue what he meant) and rearranged the handful of spices I owned, meaning I’d accidentally added a generous dash of cinnamon to our fajitas last night, instead of chili powder.
Danny makes an exaggerated gagging noise at the mere memory of my dinner disaster, but hugs me closer anyway, kissing the side of my head. “Don’t worry. By the end of this month, I’ll have you cooking like a pro.”
I don’t actually hate the idea of spending time in the kitchen with Danny, and him teaching me how to cook. I get a sudden image of us being middle-aged, in some big, cozy kitchen, cooking some big family meal side by side, and bury my face in his chest before he can see me blushing.