Page 48

“That’s okay, though. You’re here more for eye candy than help.” He smacks my butt, walking past to set his roller on the tarp and get a drink of water.

I look around the room, surveying just how far we’ve come with this damn house. After dealing with water damage, supply delays, and the weather continually holding everything up, we’re finally in the final stretch. I wish we weren’t. The house has provided a perfect excuse for him to live with me, and after a full year, all of his things have long been moved in. My bedroom is our bedroom, the kitchen, our kitchen. I’ve stopped thinking of this house as his. He doesn’t live here. He lives with me.

Rubbing a hand over my jaw, I join Oliver at the cooler, taking the bottle he hands me. He looks around the room proudly. As well he should. A lot of blood, sweat, and frustration went into this damn house. And money. Lots and lots of money.

“I wonder if those witches I hired online were able to banish the ghosts,” he says seriously. I cough, nearly snorting water up my nose. He’s always talking about how this place is hauntedand, honestly, has nearly got me convinced as well. How else did those lights get turned on when we hadn’t been over here in days?

“Although,” he continues, scratching his stomach, the hem of his shirt lifting a bit to show me his pale skin, “I suppose it doesn’t really matter either way. It’s not as though I’ll put it in the listing. Or maybe I will. That might work as a selling point, honestly.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. Selling point? He looks back at me, a vague half smile on his face as he takes sips from his water bottle. After a second, his brow furrows.

“What?” he asks.

“Selling?” I clarify, trying not to sound as hopeful as I suddenly feel. I’ll support him whatever he wants to do, and if that means sleeping half a mile apart instead of half a foot, well, I’ll just have to suffer through.

He flushes crimson, water bottle crunching as he squeezes it in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he starts to talk, stops, and then starts again, voice low.

“Oh, well, maybe not. I don’t know. I thought…I was probably wrong, though. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. I actually thought you had said…well, I misunderstood. Obviously.”

He laughs, a touch manically, bottom lip disappearing as he rolls it into his mouth and bites it. I raise my eyebrows. None of that made sense, and usually, I’m very, very good at listening between the lines when he talks. He takes another deep breath, fingers tapping on the water bottle.

“Uhm, it’s just that I thought since I was…staying with you, I’d put this place up on the market. Flip it, I guess, which wasn’t the original plan, but now… I’m sorry, I think I just misunderstood. We moved all my stuff to your house, and you always saylet’s go homelike it’s both of our homes. But I should have asked, obviously. I got a little ahead of myself. And now I’m embarrassed and rambling.”

He laughs again, throat bobbing as he swallows roughly. The paint on his cheek has dried, and I reach over to brush some of it off. He leans into my hand.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “You live with me.”

He relaxes a bit, but not fully. When I slide my hand around to cup his nape, his neck is tense beneath my palm. I pull him forward to kiss his forehead.

“Are you sure, though? Because now I’m feeling like I ambushed you a little bit. I can live here. Should, probably, after the amount of work we’ve put into this place. Plus, it’s really not that far away from your house, so it’s not as though things would really need to change. We’d still see each other a lot.”

A lot, maybe, but not enough. I want to see Oliver at work, ride home with him, and continue seeing him there. I want to sleep with his back pressed to mine and hear his voice echoing in the bathroom when he sings in the shower. I want to watch him laugh as he sits cross-legged in the yard with the chickens pecking around him. I want winters in front of the fireplace and summers around the campfire.

“I want you to stay,” I tell him, and whatever he must see in my face has him fully relaxing. His grin loosens enough for thedimples to peek back out.

“Yikes,” he says, puffing out his cheeks dramatically. “That was almost a catastrophe. You know what we could do to celebrate officially moving in together, though?”

Dropping my hands to his hips, I pull him into me. Idoknow what we could do to celebrate.

“Paint,” he replies succinctly. “We can finish painting.”

Oliver’s laughing when I lean in to kiss him, tugging the bandana off of his head and letting it fall to the floor.