Page 253 of Where We Stay

“I know.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me against her.

“Okay.”

I pull back enough to see her face. “Okay?”

“Yeah, Ashford.” She smiles. “I’ll stay.”

Fifty

Blair

Dean apparently took “move in with us” to mean immediately.

As in, the next fucking morning.

Christmas Eve, no less.

By ten, he and Jerry have already made three trips to the cottage while I’ve spent most of the morning being told to sit down. Apparently, being pregnant means I’m incapable of carrying anything heavier than a handbag.

Which is bullshit.

Mostly.

We haven’t told Jerry about the baby yet, so whenever he joins Dean in telling me to stop helping, he blames it on my ribs.

My ribs don’t even hurt anymore.

Such bullshit.

I’m standing in the bedroom when Dean drops the last box beside the closet.

“That’s it,” he announces, straightening.

I look between him and the box. “That’s everything?”

“Everything you wanted,” Dean confirms.

Something about those words catches in my chest.

My clothes are hanging beside his. My books are downstairs, my ridiculous number of throw blankets have already migrated into the living room, and my coffee mugs are mixed in with Dean’s in the kitchen cupboards.

Even the little dish I keep my jewelry in is sitting on his bedside table.

Our bedside table.

There’s nothing left at the cottage that matters.

Dean watches me carefully. “You okay?”

I nod before immediately bursting into tears.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I wipe beneath my eyes, annoyed with myself.

Dean laughs and pulls me against his chest. “Pregnancy hormones?”

“Shut up,” I mumble into his shirt.