Page 5 of Needing Forever

She tells me her address, and I plug it into the GPS. She only

lives five minutes from me. I pull into her driveway. She pops the passenger door open.

“I’ll be right back,” she says.

“Pack a bag. You don’t live here anymore.” I know that I am being high-handed but, fuck I am already obsessed with her.

“Excuse me? This is where I work.”

“I see that Shaye’s Daisies.”

“So, I live upstairs,” she says.

“No, you live with me now,” I say.

“Oh. Is this your way of asking me to move in with you after one night?” she asks, looking confused. When I don’t say anything, she continues. “I’m not saying no, I just want to clarify.”

“Hell yes. I realize how fucking crazy this is, but I don’t care.”

She leans over and kisses me.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll come up with you,” I say getting out the car. I follow up the stairs to her apartment. I can hear her dog scratching at the door.

“He sounds big,” I say.

“He is, but he’s a big teddy bear,’ she says pushing the door open.

Snooky is a gorgeous dog. While she packs a bag for herself, I make myself useful getting the dog’s things ready. Twenty minutes later, we are back home. Bob and Snooky get along great. I take my girl back to bed, where I love her for the rest of the night.

* * *

Three weeks later, Shaye is completely moved into my house and it’s like she’s always been there. While I was at work today, I went to a local jewelry store on my lunch break and bought her an engagement ring. When five o’clock rolls around, I am out of the office like it's on fire. When I get home, she is already there and something smells amazing.

“I’m home, Shaye,” I call out.

“In the kitchen,” she shouts back. Walking into the kitchen, I see that it’s a disaster area.

“What happened in here?” I ask.

“I’m making dinner. I am not very good at the cleaning up part.”

“I see that,” I say. It looks like every single pot and pan that I own is in the sink as well as the six sitting on each burner on the stovetop. “I’ll clean up,” I say taking my jacket off and rolling my sleeves up. “What are we having?”

“Parmesan crusted salmon, loaded mashed potatoes, asparagus, and salad,” she says.

“Sounds like a feast,” I say as I fill the sink with hot, soapy water.

“It should be. I got the recipe from my mom. I’ve never actually made the fish before, but the potatoes are my specialty.”

“I am sure it will be amazing,” I say getting to work tackling the dishes.

“This is kind of domestic,” she muses.

“It is, isn't it? What’s the occasion?” I ask.

“I was tired of going out,” she responds. I am too if I’m honest. Each night that we’ve been together we’ve either gone out, brought takeout home or eaten at one of our parents houses.

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