Page 86 of The Roommate Experiment

Dylan presses a tender kiss on my forehead. “You won’t have to. We’ve got forever, Hunt.”

And as we lie wrapped in each other, I know that our ever after has already begun.

EPILOGUE

DYLAN

Five Years Later

The adoption agency office isn’t flashy—just a standard workspace with a desk, cabinets, and a few chairs. The only real clue to its purpose is the framed children’s drawings lining the walls. Hunter sits next to me in front of the counselor interviewing us, her knee bouncing with restless energy. The chair creaks under my shifting weight as I try to appear composed—a feat, considering I’m auditioning for the role of “Future Dad.”

“Tell us a bit about why you’re pursuing adoption,” the counselor prompts, her pen poised above a notepad.

Hunter glances at me, her expression somewhere between hopeful andif you mess this up, Dylan, I’ll throttle you.

“Well,” I start, clasping my hands together to avoid fidgeting. “We’ve been trying for a few years. Turns out, my swimmers are less Michael Phelps, more synchronized flailing.”

The counselor blinks, clearly unsure whether to laugh or maintain professional neutrality.

Hunter groans softly, elbowing me in the ribs. “Dylan.”

“What?” I whisper.

“They value honesty,” she chides. “He doesn’t want to put me on the spot, but I’m the one with infertility issues. I can’t have a baby.”

“I see. Is infertility the only reason you’ve chosen to adopt?”

Hunter takes over, her voice steady, soothing. “We want to be parents. Biology doesn’t matter to us. What matters is giving a child a loving home and a family. We’re actually happy to be helping someone in need.”

Her hand slides into mine, and I squeeze it, grateful for her composure. “Yeah,” I add. “Plus, we’ve had practice. My goddaughter, Soleil, tests our patience every time she’s over. She’s a tiny hurricane. And she’s adopted, too. Half-adopted: her father was a real jerk, but then her mom met this—ouch.”

Hunter has kicked me under the table. “Honey, the counselor probably doesn’t care about Rowena and Adrian’s origin story.”

“True, I don’t.” The counselor’s lips twitch. “But it’s good that you’ve been around adopted children.”

Hunter smiles tightly. I give her hand another squeeze to let her know we got this. “Yeah. Anyway, we’re ready,” she says. “We’re excited to share our lives and love.”

She has this radiant glow, part hope, part nerves, and a lot of determination that reminds me why I married her. The counselor seems charmed too because her posture softens, and she moves on to the next question.

The counselor sets down her pen with a satisfied smile. “I think I have everything I need for now. The next step is for you to complete the formal written application.” She reaches for a neat stack of forms on the corner of her desk and hands them to me. “Take your time. Once you’ve filled these out and returned them, we’ll move forward.”

I accept the stack, thumbing through the pages briefly before handing them to Hunter. “Better if she handles this,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “I’ve got dyslexia, and forms like this are… not my strong suit.”

Five years ago, the thought of admitting something like this would’ve left me paralyzed. I’d invented some sort of excuse not to fill in the modules myself. But Hunter changed that. Her love has taught me that my struggles don’t make me less capable; they make me human. With her, I’ve learned that honesty isn’t a weakness, and neither is asking for help. She didn’t just accept my flaws; she made me see how they’re a part of who I am.

Now, there’s no shame in leaning on each other. It’s second nature, like breathing. Being able to ask for help and own my challenges? That’s real strength. Instead of letting my weaknesses hold me back, I’ve learned to navigate around them, and even laugh about them.

Hunter takes the papers and pats my arm. “Division of labor,” she says lightly, throwing the counselor a smile. “He’ll keep track of all the deadlines and reminders.”

The counselor nods, satisfied. “Teamwork like this will serve you well as parents.”

I glance over at Hunter as she patiently fills out the form, her pen moving steadily across the page. She doesn’t complain, doesn’t even hesitate, just does what needs to be done, like always. It’s not about keeping score; it’s about showing up for each other and taking on what the other can’t. Real love is knowing you don’t have to be perfect to be enough.

Yeah, we’re going to make one hell of a team.

* * *

By the time we leave the agency, I’m riding a wave of cautious optimism. Hunter loops her arm through mine as we step into the brisk New York afternoon. “You really had to bring up your swimmers?”

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