Page 30 of Fumbled Into Love

“Is that a yes to staying with me?”

My body vibrates with hope.

Her head bobs, banging between my pectoral muscles. I lean my cheek against the crown of her head, savoring the soft smell of jasmine.

“Good. Let’s get you packed.”

Nathalie peels away, her eyes watery but with a soft smile on her face.

“Converse first,” she says, leading us to the hallway closet. The door slides open, and my jaw drops at the sheer number of shoes. Dozens of Converse topple each other in a pile, the bottom half soaked with water.

This is going to take a while.

The bags hanging off of Nathalie’s shoulders fall to the floor as she gasps in the entryway of my home. I’ve never lived with a woman who wasn’t my sister or mom, and I have no idea what to do or say or where to stand.

I’m nervous. She makes me nervous.

Somehow, I didn’t consider the living we would be doing together when I made my offer. I never lived with Savannah. I offered and asked and, at one point, begged, but she was adamant she wanted her own space.

Turns out, her own space was used to cheat on me, and I only found out when I tried to surprise her.

We packed her belongings up in silence, except for the brief question or direction. Nathalie was sullen on the drive, and I spent the time trying to find something to cheer her up.

I nearly broke out my Gollum impression to see her smile.

Now, we’re in my home, and my offer to share living quarters is becoming very, very real. How am I supposed to explain my pantry organizational system without sounding like I’ve lost my mind?

“Oh, wow.” Nathalie creeps deeper into my home, stopping in the living area. “This is…shocking.”

“What is?”

“It’s so homey.” I lift a brow, and she continues. “You own art and a massive couch and…” she trails off, eyes locked on the kitchen. “Is that an industrial stove?”

“Yes.” Her jaw falls, and I force back a laugh.

“It’s so clean, too.” She laughs, the sound throaty and raw from her bouts of crying earlier. “I was expecting more of a bachelor pad if I’m being honest.”

“Bachelor pad?” I don’t hide that I am mildly offended. A bachelor pad would not have a butler's pantry with individually labeled baskets.

After my signing bonus hit my bank account, I drove myself to The Container Store and bought every item that sparked my interest. Some players buy cars or jewelry. I chose a more practical route. I even splurged on the OXO grip lock storage containers. And they say money can’t buy happiness.

“Yeah, like a camping chair sitting in front of a television in the living room and a mattress on the floor with gray sheets you’ve probably had since college.”

I frown in disgust.

“Who the hell would want to live like that?”

Sounds like the inside of a fraternity.

“Some of the men I’ve hooked up with have,” she hums, and I blink. I do not want to know about the men she’s slept with or their questionable cleanliness.

“Those aren’t men. Those are boys.”

Nathalie pauses, but before she can answer, a blur of black fur darts out from the back of the house, and I curse, hauling Nathalie to the side. Gordito creeps toward us.

There’s only one way this will go.

Poorly.

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