Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“We’re entering our Wife Era.” She raises her plastic latte cup in a toast, eyes going dreamy. “If I meet someone hot, who’s emotionally stable and regularly changes the sheets on his bed, you’re going to be my maid of honor.”
“Obviously,” I say. “And I’m giving a speech at the wedding that includes the words ‘gondola vomit.’”
We laugh before slipping into a comfortable silence for a minute, sipping and nibbling and people-watching.
There’s a guy across the street walking a pink poodle while riding a skateboard, a young mother negotiating with a toddler who has clearly decided today is the perfect day to lay down in the middle of the sidewalk and throw a tantrum—and a pair of college girls debating over whether a guy named Kyle deserves a third chance.
“So. Enough about me.” Poppy twirls her straw like she’s about to stir up some shit. “How’s cohabitation?”
Ah. There it is.
I roll my eyes, even as a smile creeps up my face. “It’s good. Great, actually.”
He lets me rant.
He lets me cry.
He makes me coffee in the morning and leaves dumb sticky notes on the bathroom mirror. He scratches my back. He’s patient when I’m not. And more importantly—he never makes me feel like I’m too much—or not enough.
I feel wanted.
I feel chosen.
“What are you guys doing tonight?” Poppy asks.
“Unpacking. Bickering over where his hockey jersey collection should go. Making out on the couch.”
She sighs dramatically. “God. That’s the dream.”
Luca has moved into my space as if he’s always belonged there—without rearranging the furniture or leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. His shoes are usually kicked off haphazardly near the door, sure. And yes, he uses my fancy, expensive shampoo like it’s four-dollar Suave. But it makes my apartment feel more full.
Lived in.
Loved.
I love the sound of him brushing his teeth while I’m in the shower.
I love the way he hogs the throw blankets on the couch.
Every morning, he kisses me like he’s still surprised I’m his. And every night, he curls his big, warm body around mine. We’ve made space for each other in the little things—sharing closet space, obviously—and bathroom counters. Grocery lists and lazy Sunday afternoons.
“Let it be known that I do still take out my own trash.”
Poppy raises one unimpressed brow. “Puh-leez. You haven’t hauled a trash bag since he moved in.”
I lift a hand. “That’s not true! And I refill the water filter.”
She cackles, shaking her head. “Wow. So evolved.”
The little things matter. The small choices, the quiet moments, the shared space. Luca folds my laundry now—even though he does a terrible job. He restocks my snack drawer without asking. He lets me put my cold feet between his legs to warm them up.
Across from me, Poppy watches me with a soft little smile.
“You’re so gone,” she murmurs.
I don’t even deny it.
“Yep,” I say, chewing the corner of my straw. “I’m fully committed.”
“I’m fully jealous.”
I grin, tipping my head at her. “You should be. He does the dishes without being asked and voluntarily goes down on me. Like—he begs for it.”
Her eyes go wide. “Nova!”
“What?” I shrug. “You said you were jealous. I’m just giving you more reasons.”
“I want this,” Poppy says a minute later after more nibbling on the croissant. “The job. The apartment. A man who brings me coffee in bed and voluntarily gives me oral.”
“You will.” I nudge her foot under the table. “You’ve always been the kind of girl who writes her own damn story. This is just the start of your next chapter.”
“That sounds so damn cheesy, but yeah.” My best friend nods, then adds, “Do you think any of Luca’s teammates would be attracted to smart, mouthy women who could reprogram their TVs?”
I cackle.
And make a mental note to check the team group chat.
Let the matchmaking games begin…
43
luca
Iam going to propose.
As in: marriage.
Does it feel too soon? Maybe.
But you only live once and I’ve found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with—why wait?
“Is it always this bright in here?” I squint, shielding my eyes as we walk through the jewelry store to a corner booth where the sales associate has everything laid out in anticipation for my arrival.
Including two glasses and a bottle of champagne.
The thing is—I already bought the ring. This isn’t a browsing trip. I’m not here to hold tiny velvet boxes with trembling fingers and weigh the emotional gravity of diamond cuts. That ship sailed three weeks ago when I spontaneously walked past this store and decided to push through the door.
Forty-five minutes later, I’d ordered the ring and today, I’m here to pick it up.
Gio claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You’re nervous. That’s why everything feels aggressive.”
“I’m not nervous,” I disagree.
He glances sideways. “You have armpit stains.”
I lift my arm to inspect my armpits; I’ve perspired through my sweatshirt and there’s nothing I can do about it but suffer through it.