Page 74 of Citius

“Six.”

“Oh?” His face lit up with an impish grin as he exchanged a look with Kelsey—one that felt oddly loaded. “You two are neighbors!”

“I live in 601.” Kelsey offered a small but welcoming smile.

“With one of our other sisters. They’ve lived here for years,” Rory said, pressing the button for the sixth floor.

I wondered if that sister was the one who smelled like sweet booze. No, wait—Wyatt said it was floral. Could it be both, something like elderflower liqueur?

Not that I knew what elderflower liqueur smelled like.

“The guy who used to live in your unit is our bonus brother. Glad to finally know who wound up with the place.” Rory tapped an excited rhythm on the cart handle. “Did you keep the piano? Please tell me you kept the piano.”

I suddenly understood what Joaquin meant when he described my conversational style as a whirlwind.

“Yes, we still have the piano. And the giant chaise, too. Moved it upstairs.”

“That’s an excellent piece,” Kelsey said with muted approval. “I helped pick it out. Some of your pillow choices are the perfect complement for the upholstery.”

“Oh, do you like to decorate?” I asked as we reached our destination, holding the elevator door for them again.

“She’s a total pro.” Rory skipped out of the elevator, dragging the cart along in spurts and jolts. “Has an online store and finds the most amazing goodies. All my friends get their nesting supplies from her.”

I regarded my new neighbor with something akin to awe. Was this encounter the answer to my decorating novice prayers? Maybe I could ask Kelsey to give the place a once-over before the housewarmingparty—or at least help me figure out which pillows to return.

After unlocking the door, I turned to retrieve my bags from the cart in the hallway. Rory, however, breezed past me, making a beeline for the dining room. He started unloading bags onto the table, moving with the confidence of someone far too familiar with the unit layout.

Kelsey lingered in the foyer, her eyes resting on the new sectional sofa. Upholstered in a cool gray microsuede, the shade was an almost perfect match for the curtains. Her gaze swept over the mismatched accent furniture and the nearly empty built-in bookshelves.

“It’s coming together,” she said.

“But looks entirely different, I imagine,” I said, scratching the side of my neck, overly aware of how far our loft still had to go before it felt like a home.

“Well…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. Very polite ones, no doubt.

“Different is good!” Rory cut in, peering around the fireplace with a rascally grin. “There’s taste, and then there’staste—and Jacobi hastastein spades. It finally looks like real people live here instead of being trapped inside a maximalist furniture showroom.”

Kelsey shot him a reproachful look, though her lips twitched with reluctant amusement. As she entered the living room, her critical gaze assessed each item.

“Focus on black and blue in here. Green works, too,” she said, her guidance full of quiet confidence. “Save the brighter colors for other rooms. I doubt you’ll need those shiny purple pillows, though. Might want to return them.”

How had she picked out the two pillows I was most nervous about?

“Is she magic?” I whispered to Rory on his way out.

He laughed, brushing his hair away from his face, the warm sugar in his scent spiking with amusement. “Pretty much. But that’s why we love her.”

***

A minor miracle occurred as I placed a framed photograph on the living room bookshelf—one of mine, the harbor at dusk, the sea and sky awash in moody blues. For the first time, the place looked… Nice.

A blend of modern and vintage, it reflected our varied tastes, as if we’d curated the collection together as a pack over time. Even today’simpulsive purchases seemed intentional, thanks to the limited color palette suggested by Kelsey. While many shelves were still bare, begging for several dozen more books and decorative objects, it would suffice for the time being.

The front door opened, and a fresh wave of boxwood announced Wyatt’s arrival, punctuated by the thud of his gym bag hitting the floor. The first pack mate to return home from their weekend workday.

He paused by the entryway table to admire the new artwork. Thick cream rope woven into a repeating geometric pattern and mounted on a wooden frame. I loved how inviting it felt while subtly alluding to Northport’s nautical vibes.

“Place looks great, Alijah. Really great.” He stepped into the living room, just as Kelsey had done earlier—and froze. The pupils of his ice-blue eyes constricted to pinpoints. “Who was here?”

---