Page 190 of Can't Always Get What You Want

I roll my eyes, even as a smile creeps up my face. “It’s good. Great, actually.”

He lets me rant.

He lets me cry.

He makes me coffee in the morning and leaves dumb sticky notes on the bathroom mirror. He scratches my back. He’s patient when I’m not. And more importantly—he never makes me feel like I’m too much—or not enough.

I feel wanted.

I feel chosen.

“What are you guys doing tonight?” Poppy asks.

“Unpacking. Bickering over where his hockey jersey collection should go. Making out on the couch.”

She sighs dramatically. “God. That’s the dream.”

Luca has moved into my space as if he’s always belonged there—withoutrearranging the furniture or leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. His shoes are usually kicked off haphazardly near the door, sure. And yes, he uses my fancy, expensive shampoo like it’s four-dollar Suave. But it makes my apartment feel more full.

Lived in.

Loved.

I love the sound of him brushing his teeth while I’m in the shower.

I love the way he hogs the throw blankets on the couch.

Every morning, he kisses me like he’s still surprised I’m his. And every night, he curls his big, warm body around mine. We’ve made space for each other in the little things—sharing closet space, obviously—and bathroom counters. Grocery lists and lazy Sunday afternoons.

“Let it be known that Idostill take out my own trash.”

Poppy raises one unimpressed brow. “Puh-leez. You haven’t hauled a trash bag since he moved in.”

I lift a hand. “That’s not true! And I refill the water filter.”

She cackles, shaking her head. “Wow. So evolved.”

The little things matter. The small choices, the quiet moments, the shared space. Luca folds my laundry now—even though he does a terrible job. He restocks my snack drawerwithout asking. He lets me put my cold feet between his legs to warm them up.

Across from me, Poppy watches me with a soft little smile.

“You’re so gone,” she murmurs.

I don’t even deny it.

“Yep,” I say, chewing the corner of my straw. “I’m fully committed.”

“I’m fully jealous.”

I grin, tipping my head at her. “You should be. He does the dishes without being asked and voluntarily goes down on me. Like—he begs for it.”

Her eyes go wide. “Nova!”

“What?” I shrug. “You said you were jealous. I’m just giving you more reasons.”

“I want this,” Poppy says a minute later after more nibbling on the croissant. “The job. The apartment. A man who brings me coffee in bed and voluntarily gives me oral.”

“You will.” I nudge her foot under the table. “You’ve always been the kind of girl who writes her own damn story. This is just the start of your next chapter.”

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