Page 79 of Afterglow

Goddammit, Bryce, pull it together.

I focus on slowing my erratic breaths as we head up the driveway.

See, we made it. Safe and sound.

Leanne pulls up out front, but I wave her on to follow me to the garage around back. I cleared the space next to mine of the random boxes and equipment that have called it home these past four years. Can’t have her parking outside with the possibility of snow overnight.

“I could’ve parked out front,” she says before she’s even fully out of the car, but I’m already pulling her bag out of the back seat.

“It might snow tonight, and this’ll be your spot eventually,” I say, looking up to catch the surprised look on her face. “If you agree to move in. May as well get used to it.”

She smiles and ducks her head.

I like taking her by surprise. I like it a lot. I like taking care of her even more. And when she lets me, I love that the most.

I toss her bag over my shoulder and rest a hand on the small of her back, encouraging her toward the door. In the mud room, she sits to remove her boots and checks out the space. This is the only room she didn’t poke around in when she visited last time.

Despite its name, it’s pristine. After living my younger years in a house that was always messy and chaotic, the opposite became my sanctuary when I moved in with the Davenports.

Order is my solace. Control is my comfort.

And now she’s here, and that comfort begins to replace the anxiety and fear. It’s part of why I invited her for the weekend—having her close helps me to know she’s okay.

I kick my boots off next to hers and slide them under the bench.

“Come on,” I say, feeling a triumphant satisfaction when she reaches for my hand. I take every moment I get to touch her, be with her, for what it is—a gift.

She pauses momentarily, causing my arm to pull tight when I start down the hallway. “What?” I ask.

She looks at me, then at the bag in my hand, then to the door at the far end of the hall—the door to my room. I know where I want her to stay—I want her in my bed, in my arms—but she needs to make that call. Especially after what happened earlier. I don’t know if she’ll want space when she’s already feeling vulnerable and exposed.

I stop at the first door instead of hauling her the additional twenty feet down the hall. “I thought this could be your room—if you want your own space.” I step in, flipping the light switch, and place her weekender on the foot of the bed. I rarely have guests, but I always hoped someday there’d be a reason for having decorated this room. “And the room between this one and mine…”

I pull her out, not wanting to linger and make her feel like she needs to choose where she’s sleeping right now.

I flip the switch in the next room, the soft light illuminating what I’ve been wanting to show her—the other reason for this weekend.

She gasps, a sharp intake of breath I can almost feel in the way she grips my hand in time with it. Her feet are rooted to the soft carpet but her eyes are everywhere.

The glider in the corner… The same one she sat in at the store months ago.

The painted swatches of color on the wall—a velvety pink, a muted lavender, the palest green, a mellow sunny yellow, even a subdued burnt orange color.

A mobile temporarily hanging off the closet door with monarch butterflies floating around.

The taped-off placement for a crib, dresser, and changing table—in the places I think would make most sense, but those could change in a heartbeat if she wants something else.

“You did all this?” Her hoarse whisper is paired with awestruck eyes and salt-streaked cheeks when she looks at me.

I choke on the emotion laying thick between us. Clearing my throat, I say, “I did it for you. I wanted you to see that I’m ready. I’m committed to you being here. If you choose not to move in, we can take everything to your place, or buy duplicates… We can do whatever you want… I’ll do whatever—”

She throws herself into my arms, hers around my neck as she draws my lips down to hers. I pray this is her way of saying she’ll stay.

When she pulls back, I swipe the moisture off her cheeks. “Good surprise?”

She nods. “Best surprise. I can’t believe you bought the chair.” She stares at it longingly.

“Go try it out. I promise I put it together correctly… I think?” I joke, and she laughs, pulling away to sit down. “I thought we could talk more this weekend about what you want for the nursery. Maybe start a registry… Delia and Alex mentioned throwing us a shower.”