Page 96 of The Boyfriend Zone

"After watching three YouTube tutorials and calling your mom twice for clarification," I reminded him, dodging the dish towel he threw at my head.

"The end result was edible, which makes it a culinary success by bachelor standards."

We continued unpacking in comfortable silence, the mundane task somehow made enjoyable by our shared purpose. Box by box, the apartment filled with evidence of our life together—two laptops on the desk, one with a hockey team sticker, one with a press badge; the refrigerator adorned with a photo of us and a magnet holding up a schedule that showed my practice times next to Lucas's deadlines.

"The bedroom still feels a bit empty," Lucas observed as we stood in the doorway, surveying our work. "We should get some artwork or something for the walls."

"We could frame that fortune from the cookie you got a few months ago," I suggested, only half-joking. "The one about unexpected roads leading to lasting friendships."

"I still have it," Lucas admitted, crossing to the bedside table where he'd placed a small wooden box containing various mementos. He rummaged through it briefly before extracting the small strip of paper. "I added something to it, though."

He handed it to me, and I smiled when I saw what he'd done—beneath the printed fortune, he'd added in neat handwriting: "and love."

"Perfect," I declared, passing it back to him. "Definitely frame-worthy."

As the evening wore on and our unpacking reached a natural stopping point, we collapsed onto the couch, physically tired but emotionally content. Lucas curled against my side, his head finding that perfect spot on my shoulder that always felt like it was designed specifically for him.

"I never thought I'd be here," I said softly, almost to myself. "A year ago, I couldn't have imagined any of this."

"What, living in a modest apartment with a journalism student?" Lucas teased gently. "Such lofty dreams you had."

"You know what I mean," I replied, threading my fingers through his. "I couldn't imagine being this open. This honest. About who I am, what I want, how I feel."

Lucas squeezed my hand in understanding. "You've come a long way from the guy who pretended not to know me after we kissed at the club."

"God, I was an idiot," I groaned, the memory still making me cringe despite how far we'd come since then. "I don't know how you put up with me."

"You were worth the effort," Lucas said simply. "Even when you were being stubborn and closed-off, I could see there was more to you than you were letting people see."

"I used to worry about that all the time," I admitted. "If I could let you in without letting everything fall apart."

"And?" Lucas prompted, looking up at me with those perceptive eyes that had seen through my defenses from the beginning.

"And it turns out I had it backward all along," I said, the truth of it settling deep in my bones. "By letting you in, I found everything falling into place instead."

Lucas's smile was soft. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't get used to it," I warned him, though we both knew it was an empty threat. "I have a tough-guy reputation to maintain."

"Your secret's safe with me," Lucas assured me, stretching up to press a kiss to my jaw. "I won't tell anyone that the fearsome hockey defenseman is actually a romantic at heart."

We lapsed into comfortable silence, the sounds of the city a gentle backdrop to our quiet evening.

"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn't met when we did?" Lucas asked suddenly, his voice thoughtful. "If you hadn't been assigned to cover the hockey team, or if I hadn't been at that club that night?"

I considered the question seriously. "I like to think we would have found each other somehow," I said finally. "Maybe not in the same way, but eventually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I nodded, growing more convinced as I spoke. "Maybe I would have spilled coffee on you at the campus cafe or something."

Lucas laughed, the sound warm against my chest. "In that scenario, I probably would have been the suspicious one. You would have been the clumsy jock who ruined my favorite shirt."

"I'm not clumsy," I protested, feigning offense. "I'm graceful. Athletic. Coordinated."

"Says the man who tripped over his own duffel bag this morning and nearly face-planted into the doorframe."

"That was strategic stumbling," I explained with as much dignity as I could muster. "I was testing the structural integrity of our apartment. You're welcome."

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