Page 33 of Dash to Me
I lean back against his chest. “I couldn’t sleep. Too excited.”
He kisses the top of my head, and in this perfect moment, I know we made the right choice. This house, this life, this love—it’s everything.
“Coffee?” I ask, reaching for the mugs we unpacked yesterday.
“Please,” he murmurs, still holding me. His chin rests on my shoulder as he watches me cook. “You know, we could have slept in. We’ve got all the time in the world now.”
I flip the bacon, listening to it sizzle. “I know. I just couldn’t wait to start our first real day here.”
He releases me reluctantly to pour coffee into our mugs. The one with the chip on the handle for him, the oversized one with faded flowers for me. Little decisions we’ve already fallen into without discussion.
“Did you see the cardinal?” I ask, nodding toward the window. “First visitor to our feeder.”
He looks out, smiling. “Good sign. My grandmother always said cardinals were messengers.”
“Messengers of what?”
“Good things.” He hands me my coffee, our fingers brushing. “Hope. New beginnings.”
The toast pops up, and I slide eggs onto plates. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels monumental—our first breakfast in our home.
We sit at the small two person pop-up table by the window, knees touching underneath.
“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks between bites.
“Unpacking the rest of the kitchen. Maybe hanging those shelves in the office?” I take a sip of coffee. “Unless you had other ideas.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “I was thinking we should christen some more rooms. We did the couch yesterday, bedroom last night… there’s still a lot of house left.”
I feel my face flush as I reach for my coffee, trying to hide my smile behind the mug. “Is that your plan for our first full day? Just... christening rooms?”
“Not the entire day,” he says with a wink, stealing a piece of bacon from my plate. “But I think the dining room should definitely be next on our list.”
“We don’t even have an actual sturdy dining table yet,” I remind him, but I’m already calculating the stability of the counter behind me.
“Details,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Besides, that’s what moving boxes are for. Temporary furniture.”
I laugh and roll my eyes, but my heart swells. This playfulness between us, feels like a gift I never want to take for granted.
“After we finish breakfast,” I say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. “And after we unpack at least one more box.”
“Such a taskmaster,” he groans dramatically, but his foot hooks around my ankle under the table.
The cardinal returns to the feeder, joined now by its mate. They take turns at the seeds, a perfect choreography of give and take.
“Look,” I whisper, not wanting to startle them. “There are two now.”
He turns to watch them, and I watch him instead—the morning light catching in his hair, the softness around his eyes, the slight stubble he hasn’t yet shaved. In this moment, I feel a certainty so profound it almost hurts.
“Do you ever wonder,” I begin, my voice quieter than I intended, “if we’ll still be like this years from now? Still wanting to... christen rooms and wake up early just to be together?”
He turns back to me, his expression serious now. He reaches across the table to take my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“I don’t wonder,” he says. “I know. This—us—it’s not temporary. It’s foundation.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Foundation,” I repeat, liking how the word feels. Solid. Permanent.
He nods, lifting my hand to kiss my palm. “Like this house. We’ll build on it. Add to it. Maybe it creaks sometimes or needs work, but the foundation stays.”
