Page 26 of Dash to Me
“Feels weird to say goodbye.”
Atlas pulls me into his arms, his chin resting on the top of my head. “Not goodbye. Just... see you later. We can drive by anytime you want. Plus, you brother still lives here, remember?”
I lean into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. “I know. It’s just—this place saw me through so much. It’s always been my safe space.”
Atlas tilts my chin up so I’m looking into his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes that still make my stomach flip. “And now?”
“Now my safe harbor is you.”
His kiss is soft, a promise of all the moments to come. When we break apart, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box.
My breath catches. “Atlas...”
“Relax,” he says with a laugh. “It’s not that. Not yet, anyway.” He opens the box to reveal a key. “It’s official. It’s our place.”
“I love it,” I assure him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him again. “And I love you.”
“Good, because the lease is for twelve months and I’d hate to have to find a new roommate,” he jokes, but his eyes are serious when he adds, “I love you too. More than I thought possible.”
I hope Ryan and Jenna take care of this place. It has all of our childhood memories.
“Ready?” Atlas asks, holding out his hand.
I take his hand, feeling the weight of the key in my other palm. “Ready.”
We walk out together, and I turn to lock the door one last time. The familiar click feels different now—an ending rather than just a coming home.
“Wait,” Atlas says, pulling out his phone. “We need a picture.”
He positions us in front of the door, his arm around my shoulders, and holds out his phone. I lean into him, smiling despite the lump in my throat.
“Perfect,” he says, showing me the photo. “First day of the rest of our lives.”
As we walk to his car—our car now, really, since mine is already at his place—I cast one last glance at the house.
“You know what I won’t miss?” I say as Atlas opens my door. “That creaky step that always woke up the whole house when I came in late.”
“Or the neighbor’s dog that barked at exactly 5:47 every morning,” Atlas adds, sliding into the driver’s seat.
We laugh, and just like that, the bittersweet feeling transforms into excitement. Atlas starts the engine and reaches for my hand across the console.
“Next stop: home,” he says.
The drive to his—our—place takes only twenty minutes, but I spend it making mental lists of everything we need to do before dinner tonight. Unpack the essentials, shower, get the cake ready to transport, pick out something nice to wear...
“I can hear you thinking,” Atlas says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I know,” I say. “I just want everything to be perfect.”
“It already is.”
When we pull up, I see the moving truck already parked outside. The movers have been efficient.
“I’ll let you do the honors.”
I insert the key into the lock, feeling a flutter of excitement as it turns smoothly.
“Welcome home,” Atlas says, his voice soft in my ear.
