Page 108 of Pin My Alpha
Shay’s bag sits where he left it by the couch.
He stares at it for a moment.
I keep my mouth shut.
That’s becoming a skill. A hard-earned one.
Then Shay walks over, sets the partnership agreement on the coffee table, and unzips the bag.
His toothbrush comes out first.
He looks at it like it’s a loaded weapon.
“You can put it in the bathroom,” I say.
“I know where the bathroom is.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Okay.”
He shoots me a look, but there’s no bite in it. He walks down the short hallway, and I hear the small click of the toothbrush cup on the counter. Then he comes back for a charger. A shirt. His skin-care stuff, which he arranges with the focused intensity of a man setting up a military operation.
I lean against the kitchen counter and watch him put pieces of himself back into the apartment.
Not because I need to see proof he’s staying.
Because I want to remember this.
The exact way he folds his black T-shirt and puts it in the second drawer in my bedroom. The way he sets his phone charger on my nightstand, then pauses and corrects himself.
“Our nightstand,” he mutters.
I don’t breathe for a second.
Shay looks up. “Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you look like you’re about to cry over furniture.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re furniture crying.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
I push off the counter and cross the room. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded, pretending he doesn’t look a little wrecked by the pile of blankets and shirts waiting there.
The nest.
His nest.
Our nest.
