Page 14 of Only Be Mine

We sat on the floor, surrounded by parts, knees brushing. Every time he leaned over me to look at a diagram, my brain short-circuited.

“So,” I said, pointing. “This piece should go here.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “But then this part doesn’t line up.”

“Are you sure you didn’t flip it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

He squinted. “I am… less sure now.”

We tried again.

And again.

At some point, Baby grabbed the instruction booklet in her mouth and bolted.

“BABY, NO!” John lunged.

She skidded across the hardwood, victorious, shredding the corner like it was a personal enemy.

I collapsed back against the couch, laughing so hard my stomach hurt. “She’s chosen violence.”

John groaned. “She always chooses violence.”

After two hours, we had one drawer assembled backward, one drawer missing entirely, and a frame that leaned slightly left, like it had opinions.

We sat back on our heels, surveying the damage.

“Well,” I said, “it is technically furniture.”

He laughed softly. “I think it hates me.”

“I think it respects you,” I countered. “Just not enough to cooperate.”

We ordered takeout and ate sitting on the floor, our backs against the couch, Baby snoring between us. We talked about nothing important and everything that felt like it mattered - music, dumb jobs, places we’d never been.

I checked the time and sighed. “I should probably head home.”

He stood immediately. “I’ll drive you.”

I hesitated. “I think,” I said slowly, “I want to walk.”

He searched my face. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I like to walk when things feel… loud.”

He smiled, not disappointed, but unexpectedly understanding. “Okay.”

He walked me to the door anyway.

“Thanks for helping,” he said. “Even if we failed spectacularly.”

“We didn’t fail,” I said. “We just… postponed success.”

His laugh followed me down the steps.