Page 81 of The Guy in the Alley

He was going to like this present too. I knew he would. Because for every day that passed, shit just got clearer and clearer for me. We were so similar. We complained about the same things, had the same priorities, and shared the same interests.

It was a set with three types of lunch boxes, one small, one large, one for soup. Good brand too, that promised to keep shit warm for a few hours, at least.

He exhaled and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

So was he.

I kissed his shoulder.

We gotta happen, baby.

“Next present,” I murmured.

I peered down as goose bumps appeared along his bicep, and he went for the last gift. Well, second to last, but I wasn’t sure I needed to offer the last one. If I played my cards right, he’d take it.

“This is a monster gift.” His tone held curiosity, so I gave him a bit of space to focus on it. Because it was a good gift. The guy at the store said it was one of the best.

Ben placed it in his lap and tore at the wrapping, causing the tape to snap. And as soon as he realized it was a toolbox, he exhaled a chuckle and shook his head.

“Christ—I don’t think you know how much this matters to me, Trace.”

“What do you mean?” I tilted my head. “I understand a handy handyman slash contractor like yourself will eventually have a whole collection of these, but I figured it was a good start.”

He smiled and ghosted his hands over the box. “More than a good start,” he murmured. “But it’s—” He sighed quietly and glanced at me. “I haven’t owned things in years. I’ve had a box or two stashed away at Ma’s, and I’ve had some tools at Garrett’s place, but… Buying things just hasn’t been on the radar for several reasons.”

That made sense. You didn’t need to be materialistic to find comfort in having some stuff to call your own. In a way, those things made up your home. They also signaled a next step for someone like Ben. His life was no longer about surviving the night.

I wanted him to set down roots here.

Fuck. I had to say this. It was going to be the least friendly shit I’d tell him today, but I needed him to know.

“You know what gave me the idea for the toolbox?” I pulled up a leg so I could face him fully, and I ignored the nerves tightening in my gut.

“I don’t know, me storing tools all over the stairs?” he joked.

I smiled. No. And this toolbox wasn’t meant for power tools.

“No, it was when you were talking about how you could make changes around here,” I answered. I nodded at my cheap entertainment unit that mostly held the TV and some old movies. A couple knickknacks from Chip. “You mentioned built-in shelves along that entire wall—and how you could build them without the landlord pitching a fit.”

“Well, you put up drywall in the back,” he replied frankly. “You make it so it can be dismantled easier.”

I nodded. “Things like that. And the kitchen table you’re working on. And the stuff about the fire escapes—you said I could grow vegetables there.”

“At least the one in the kitchen,” he confirmed. “That one gets sun.”

“Right. So you have all these ideas, and I want you to run with them.” I leaned forward and dropped my chin on his shoulder again. “I don’t know if you’re aware of all the things you mention in passing, but I listen. I’ve heard each one. You said something about shelves in the hallway too, and that it’s big enough to be more useful.”

He furrowed his brow. “And then you said you didn’t need storage space and more furniture.”

Maybe he shouldn’t listen to Past Trace so much? Did he ever consider that?

“That was the old me.” I smiled. “The new me has a roommate and plans for their future.”

Their future. Our future.

He raked his teeth over his bottom lip for a short second and dropped his gaze to my mouth.

“Sounds serious.”

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