Page 207 of Just One More Thing
“I’m not going anywhere, Jake.”
I pull her up and kiss her slowly and deeply, saying every word I can’t get out right now.
She settles back against me again. After a while she says, “I’m going to give Southern Living my notice.”
I glance down at her. “Yeah?”
“This summer reminded me of something.” Her fingers drift lazily over my ribs. “Working in the bakery with Granny. Trying new things. Making a mess without worrying whether somebody else would approve of it. I forgot what that felt like.”
“Creating for yourself instead of for someone else.”
“Exactly.” She’s quiet for a second. “I’m proud of the work I did there. But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like mine. Everything became their recipes. Their deadlines. Their standards. That test kitchen started feeling less like a dream and more like a cage closing in on me.”
I tighten my arm around her.
“I kept staying because it was safe and structured,” she says quietly. “And safe meant I never had to ask myself what I actually wanted.”
She looks up at me then. “I don’t want to live like that anymore.”
I don’t say anything. I just hold her closer.
She yawns and burrows deeper into my shoulder, dragging the sheet with her like she’s officially claiming territory.
Her bkr is on the nightstand beside my phone.
Her clothes are on the bathroom floor, tangled with mine.
She’s been here less than an hour, and the whole place already feels different.
“Mo.”
“Hm.”
“Move in with me.”
Her head lifts immediately.
Her eyes find mine in the dark.
“Yes,” she says.
No hesitation.
No overthinking.
Just yes.
And apparently I exhale hard enough for her to notice because she smiles instantly.
“Were you nervous?”
“No.”
“Jake.”
“Maybe a little.”
She laughs softly, and I kiss her forehead.
