Chapter 115

The One With An Announcement

A R I E L L E

The initial step into Nate ‘s house, I’m a bit shocked at how different it looks. I remember seeing how awful his house looked when we’d returned from vacation. Ezra’s people trashed everything. There wasn’t a single thing they left untouched—wasn’t a single thing they hadn’t completely destroyed.

He’s obviously gotten all new furniture. I mean, he had to. He didn’t have any other option. The pieces he’s chosen are modern, but comfortable, with little touches of raw wood here and there. It looks like something out of an artsy magazine, but in his style.

He’s gone with black cabinets in the kitchen and a white marble-looking countertop with swirls of various shades of grey in it. It makes me think of all the memories we’d made in the old kitchen and the ones we’ll make in this new one. I can’t wait for the next meal we cook together.

It occurs to me that he’s spent a substantial amount of money on this renovation. It wasn’t like he fixed one room, he basically had to rip the house down to the studs—since Ezra’s men punched holes in the drywall everywhere—and fixed it all.

Fucking Ezra.

Walking deeper into his house, I listen to the music playing softly around us. I head for the glass patio doors that overlook the back deck. He’s even gone and repaired the pool and hot tub.

Spinning around, I find him standing with his hands on the edge of a brand new billiards table. The old one—the one he’d bent me over—had its felt torn and a leg broken out from underneath it, so he’s replaced it, it seems. He looks hot as fuck where he stands, with a strand of hair hanging in his eyes, and his all black ensemble.

Why does he look so good in black?

“I notice you’ve replaced the pool table.”

“I made sure to do so for you, babygirl.” He leans even further forward, his eyes roaming up and down my body as a smirk stretches across his mouth.

However, I also notice he’s finally gotten himself a dining table, like a grown up. After admiring the beautiful dining space, I turn back to him with a raised eyebrow and a hand on my hip, “For me? You say that like you get nothing out of it.”

He has that playful, teasing gleam in his eye, but he doesn’t comment on my response. Instead, he waves an arm as an inaudible way of asking me to come to him and then spins towards the front of the house.

Nate extends an arm towards the drywall—as if I could miss what he’s referring to—and I take it all in. During the renovations, he’s had a series of platforms and bridges installed on the one living room wall.

It’s for a cat to be able to scale the wall. For Storm.

He’s had multiple platforms put up that will allow Storm to jump all the way to near the ceiling. Part of it adorns a scratching post and he’s even had a little sort of rope bridge made—with adorable railings and a dip in the bridge, as if it’s a real one over a river of water.

It’s fucking adorable.

It’s the equivalent of buying a playground set for children. If we had any, I have no doubt he would’ve done exactly this.

“It’s for Storm,” he informs me, “Obviously. Neither of us could fit on the bridge.” He chuckles in that cute way he does, and it causes me to smile.

I can only assume this is a clear indication that he’d like me to move in here at some point. He keeps referring to Storm as our cat and I agree with him—Nate is Storm’s dad.

But, although I’m staring at this indicator that he’s renovated his home with Storm and I in mind, he hasn’t actually spoken the words. He hasn’t asked me if I’d be interested in moving in. He hasn’t asked me to move in.

There was once a time when he’d given me a key to his house with the thought that he wanted me to be able to come and go as I pleased. I recall inquiring then—when he’d gifted me a key to his front door—if he was wanting me to move in, but he didn’t state it explicitly. I think he didn’t want to put any pressure on me.

If I remember correctly, he’d said something along the lines of—you can move in if you’d like.

Again, not explicitly stated or asked.

When Chase and Zara first got engaged, I worried about what that meant for my living situation. Since I’ve lived with Chase for years, it’ll become a big adjustment for me, but I know it’s coming. They need their space privately as a couple and I believe Nate and I do too.

If he offered for me to move in here, I’d say yes.

It was only a few weeks ago that I had worries about shit maybe moving too fast with us. It was a unfounded concern, now that I really think about it.

We’ve known each other for a long time at this point. I think even if we’d only known each other a few months—but still loved one another with the intensity we do now—I’d still live with him. I don’t give a fuck about what anyone else thinks. If they would believe we’re moving too fast, then fuck them.

There shouldn’t be timestamps on shit like that. If the two people treat one another well, have good intentions, and are in love, who gives a shit how fast they move?

I have a feeling that Nate and I will live together soon. And as I stand and glance at the little gift he’s given me of a wall decorated in a cat play structure, I can picture myself here. The two of us snuggled up on his couch, playing video games or watching movies. Him, in the kitchen, teaching me to cook Pakistani dishes. The two of us cuddled up in bed with Storm between us.

I’ve never realized that I’ve had any sort of domesticity in me until Nate. I can’t even be sure I’d ever thought of a long term relationship until he came into my life. I was actually scared of the idea of marriage, settling down, children, and a steady but boring job.