Page 83 of Love Rewritten

I start my way out of the room and back down the stairs. “Yeah, once. I met with her for coffee a few weeks after to talk about everything. And we’ve had a few phone calls since, too. It’s … weird, talking to her like this after so long of things being strained. And with Thanksgiving coming up in a couple of weeks, I want to be on better terms with her before we go over there for a whole holiday dinner.”

Meredith practically bounces off the bottom step when Rose walks in, carrying a plant in each hand. She bounds over to her to get a kiss before returning to me. “I would expect it to be a little awkward after everything. You have some lost time to make up for and a lot to talk about.”

I nod, thinking about just how much we still haven’t covered, how much still sits undiscussed between us. Our relationship does feel better than it did after Dad died, but I’m not sure it will ever be what it was before.

Dallas and Logan walk in, carrying the mattress. They skirt around the corner to bring it upstairs. Cameron and Will follow them in with boxes labeled “Kitchen” and drop them near the fridge. In the short time that Meredith and I were upstairs, a pile of boxes in the living room, two parts of the new sectional couch, and two wooden chairs that sit in the open space of the dining room have been brought in.

“You guys are fast,” I say as Dallas and Logan return.

“It’s fucking cold out,” Logan says with a chuckle. “I don’t want to be out there any longer than necessary.”

“I have to agree with Logan,” Cameron says, folding her arms. “Next time you choose to move after a blizzard, I’ll be busy that day.”

Logan points to her and raises his brows at me as if to say he agrees with her.

Dallas pats him on the shoulder. “You’re moving, too, remember? The lease for the old apartment is up in two days. It’s a little late to ask for a third extension. We were supposed to be out of there two months ago. It’s getting expensive.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Logan rolls his eyes.

As everyone finishes carrying boxes and furniture in, the townhouse grows more and more packed. Most of it will end up in cabinets and closets, but I’m almost shocked that even after Dallas and Logan split their things up from the apartment, we still ended up with this much stuff.

The new coffee table is the last thing to get brought in, and once everyone settles around the kitchen island, Cameron pulls something out of the fridge with a red bow tied to the top.

“A house-warming gift,” she says, handing me a bottle of champagne.

Dallas smiles as she pulls me into a hug, and I won’t deny her the embrace. This is a relationship I’ve been proud to have sorted out, too. She and I are almost like best friends now. We call each other at least once a week to chat about everything under the sun. And it’s not awkward or forced. It came easily.

Once everyone leaves after we spend an extra half an hour chatting, it’s just Dallas and me left in the house.Ourhouse. Ourhome.

The apartment with Sam felt like my house. Staying with Logan and Dallas eventually felt like my house as well. But this. This feels different. It’s not a place I joined in on. It’s not a place I felt forced into or like I didn’t have another option. It’s somewhere Dallas and I can finally create for ourselves. We can make it into whatever we want. Do whatever we want, whenever we want, because there’s no one watching my every move. No one to tell me what I can and can’t do. No one to report to like a child. I can justexist.In whatever way I want. With the man that I want more than anything in the world.

“How much time do we have before we go meet up with your mom?” Dallas asks, casing me in between his arms, pressing my back against the counter. The look on his face begs for some alone time, and I want nothing more than to give it to him.

“We have as much time as we need,” I grin and hook my fingers through his belt loops, pulling him closer.

He raises a devious eyebrow. “That’s dangerous.” And then he lifts me up to sit on the counter so that our eyes are level. But he’s not looking at my eyes. His gaze is on my lips, and everything below them.

Warmth pools between my legs at that look in his eyes and at what I desperately want to come next.

“We have a bed that needs christening.” He’s kissing down my neck now with lips so light it almost tickles.

I thread my fingers into his hair as he squeezes my thighs. “Oh, we have plenty of spaces in this house that need christening.”

He nuzzles his face into my neck, kissing behind my ear, and his voice is warm when he speaks. “Where would you like to start?”