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"Kieran?" she says after a long moment.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about your house."

"My house?"

"Yeah. I've never seen where you live. What's it like?"

I think about my empty craftsman with its bare walls and sparse furniture. "It's small. Blue. Has a porch."

"That's it? Just blue?"

"I'm not good at descriptions."

"Try."

So I do. I tell her about the hardwood floors that creak in the hallway. The kitchen with white cabinets that came with the house. The backyard that's mostly weeds because I'm never home long enough to do anything with it. The bathroom with a clawfoot tub I've never actually used. The spare bedroom that's empty except for an old desk and some boxes of my dad's things I still haven't unpacked.

"It sounds lonely," she says quietly.

"It is. I bought it thinking I'd make it into something but I never got around to it."

"Why not?"

"Didn't seem worth the effort just for me."

She shifts against me, tilting her head up to look at my face in the darkness. "That's sad."

"It's just the way it is."

"No. It's sad." She settles back down, her ear over my heart. "You should make it nice. Paint the walls. Buy real furniture. Plant something in the backyard."

"Maybe."

"I'm serious. You deserve to have a home, not just a place to sleep."

The words settle in my chest, unexpected and warm. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. When this is all over, I'll work on the house."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She sighs, content now, and her body finally fully relaxes against mine. "Kieran?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you moved to Bloomfield."

"Me too."

Her breathing starts to even out for real this time. Within minutes she's asleep, her weight warm and solid against me. I lie there in the darkness, listening to her breathe, feeling her heartbeat against my ribs.

And somewhere between the sound of the wind in the trees and the warmth of her body tucked against mine, I realize I'm in love with her.