Page 39 of One Hot Summer
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, very maturely rolling my eyes. “Would you prefer I call him ‘Mr. Price’ like we’re in a porno?”
Dalton groaned so loudly I thought our neighbor might start banging on the wall. “Please, don’t ever say that to me again. I mean it. There are ground rules for you and my dad. Rule one: no calling him sexy in my presence. Ever! Rule two: no talking about his… assets. Rule three: no details, period. I don’t want to know if he leaves his socks on or if he’s into weird—” He gagged, literally gagged, and fanned himself with a handful of bubble wrap.
I grinned. “If it helps, I think he’s still kind of sensitive about dating someone his son’s age. Maybe don’t tease him too much. He’s delicate.”
“Delicate?” Dalton started stacking my books into a second box, dropping them in with unnecessary force. “That man once ran a half-marathon on a sprained ankle and then walked home because he ‘didn’t trust the shuttle service.’ I think you could light him on fire and he’d be fine.”
“He’s not invincible. He just pretends to be,” I said, grabbing a roll of tape and doing battle with the end for a good thirty seconds before giving up and using my teeth.
Dalton watched this with open amusement, then sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter. “So, how are you feeling?About moving in with him. Nervous? Excited? Ready to realize you’ve signed up for a life of alphabetized spice racks and early morning jogs?”
“God,” I said, “I hope he doesn’t expect me to jog with him every morning. He gets up before sunrise!” I joked.
The truth was, I had thought about it. All of it. For weeks, my brain had been running endless scenarios: how it would feel to wake up next to Griffin every day, to blend our lives together, to learn how to fold the corners on his fancy fitted sheets or hang my towel next to his on the rack. It felt like someone else’s life, some sort of fantasy. But it was happening. For real. Today.
“I’m excited,” I said, and it was true. My hands were still shaking, but now it felt more like anticipation than panic.
He finished with the box, taped it shut, and tossed the tape back at me. “You know, I was kind of worried for a minute that things would get weird after…” He let the sentence dangle, like a participle in the void.
“Yeah. Me too.” I glanced at the sparse walls where a few framed photos of the two of us still remained. “But I’m glad it didn’t.”
Dalton shrugged, a little awkward, and started packing up the utensils from the kitchen drawer. “Honestly? I think you’re good for him. For both of us.”
“Wow, high praise coming from Dalton Price,” I deadpanned.
He made a face. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” I said, then reached for my phone, almost on reflex. Griffin had been texting me all morning asking for updates on the packing, reminders to eat something, and a positively mouthwatering selfie of him stretched across his bed with the text “Thinking about all the things I’m going to do to you in here” that made me blush every time I opened it.
I thumbed a quick update: “Packing progress: 67%. Emotional progress: ??? %.” Griffin texted back immediatelywith a thumbs-up emoji and a winking face. It was so endearing and so completely unlike the stiff, reserved man I’d met months ago that I wanted to melt.
Dalton watched the exchange with a knowing smirk. “You two are insufferable. I’m going to have to start charging you rent for all the hearts-and-stars residue you’re leaving in the air.”
“Please, like you and your last five partners weren’t just as bad. I distinctly remember you once buying an edible arrangement for someone you’d only known for three weeks. And then eating all the fruit yourself when they dumped you.”
He looked offended. “That’s a vicious rumor.”
“I was there. You finished the entire melon bouquet and then threw up in the bathroom.”
He thought about it, then conceded. “Okay, fair. But I maintain my dignity.”
I laughed, the sound echoing in the almost-empty apartment. For a second, the echo sounded like a goodbye, and my chest squeezed a little. I’d spent so long dreaming of this moment that it was weird to feel even a twinge of regret about leaving. But this place had been the closest thing to a home I’d ever had. I pushed the thought aside. There’d be time for nostalgia later, maybe, or not. Maybe this was what it was supposed to feel like when things finally started going right.
Dalton came over and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t get all weird on me. You’ll see me all the time. I still plan to mooch off your boyfriend every chance I get.”
I laughed, but it came out watery. “I know. I just… you’re my best friend, man. The only one who stuck around.”
“Yeah, well, someone’s had to keep you from drinking expired milk and picking fights with the neighbor’s cat,” he said, voice gentler than I’d ever heard it.
I blinked, because for some reason this made me want to cry, and I wasn’t about to give Dalton that kind of ammunition. “Shut up,” I said, then punched him in the arm.
He grinned, unbothered. “I’m going to miss you, too, you big sap.”
We finished the last of the packing in a blur. He loaded the heavier boxes into his car, while I did a final lap, poking into the bathroom cabinet for hidden razors and half-empty toothpaste tubes, running my hand inside drawers for missed keys or phone chargers. The apartment felt bigger and emptier than ever, sunlight spilling in from the fire escape and painting bright stripes across the dusty floors. I stood in the doorway, looking back at the tiny apartment that had been my only safe haven for so long. Now, that haven was wherever Griffin was.
Dalton walked up beside me and said, “Well, Roomie, looks like this is it.”
I turned and pulled him into a hug. “You’re always welcome wherever I am. And not just because I’m living with your dad, but because you’re my brother. You know that, right?”
