Page 101 of We Can Stay

I don’t care.

“Hi,” I breathe when we finally separate.

His hands slide to my waist, keeping me close. We have plans tonight—dinner at my place, because we always end up at my place. Cat has made her preferences clear. The few times we’ve tried staying at Sebastian’s, she spent the entire night yowling at the door. She’s a homebody, my girl. Her condo, her street, her rules.

“Taking Cat for her daily walk, I see.”

“That’s the plan.” I glance down where Cat has already abandoned said plan, stretched out in a patch of sun on the grass, eyes closed in feline bliss. “Or not.”

His thumb traces circles on my hip through my sweater. “I was thinking about ordering from China Garden. And I want to finish that bird I’m crocheting for her.”

“That’s sweet.” I bite back a laugh because his ‘bird’ looks more like a lumpy potato with wings. But Cat will love it anyway—she loves everything Sebastian makes for her, even the catnip mouse that resembled a diseased banana.

It’s endearing, watching him learn to crochet. His big hands that can perform delicate surgery struggling with a size G hook. He’s terrible at it, but he keeps trying. Last week he presented me with a lopsided pot holder that I’ll treasure forever.

He pulls me closer, and his lips find that spot where my neck meets my shoulder. For a moment, the world narrows to just this—his warmth, his scent, the way my whole body leans into him like a plant toward sun.

“Should I get your usual?” His breath tickles my ear.

“Mm-hmm.” I’m already imagining us inside, curtains drawn, the afternoon dissolving into evening...

Cat chooses that moment to remember she has legs. She tugs on the leash, impatient now that she’s decided walking is back on the agenda.

“Duty calls.” I reluctantly step back from Sebastian’s embrace.

His hands trail down my arms before letting go completely. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

The words are simple, but something in his tone makes them feel bigger. A promise. A certainty.

“I know.” My voice comes out softer than intended.

And I do know. He’ll be here in my little condo with its too-small kitchen and temperamental hot water heater. He’ll be sprawled on my couch that’s covered in cat hair no amount of lint rolling can conquer. He’ll be here tonight, tomorrow, next week.

Someday we’ll have a house. We’ve started looking, casually, at places with room for a proper dye studio and Sebastian’s home office. Somewhere with a yard for Cat to supervise from the window. Nothing fancy—just ours.

But for now, this is enough. More than enough.

He’ll be here. Always.

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