Молли Харпер - And One Last Thing...

“You don’t have to.” Monroe’s face softened. He reached out and stroked a hand along my arm to take my fingers into his. “You could stay up here. Stay with me.”

I smiled sadly, my mouth lilting at the corner. “In a parallel universe, where I met you first, I bet we’re the kind of couple that makes all their friends sick with how happy they are. I’ll bet we have two-point-four kids, a golden retriever named Max, enjoy smoking hot sex on Wednesdays, the whole bit.”

“Nobody has smoking hot sex on Wednesdays,” he said.

“That’s why all our friends hate us.” I giggled when his serious expression broke into a grin. “I can’t. I can’t hide up here anymore. I have to go out and face the world, learn to be a grown-up. I’m not sorry, not for coming here or being with you. But I’m just not ready - Oh, what the hell.”

I grabbed him and kissed him, pushing him against the truck and swallowing his startled grunt. Vaguely, I could hear my sibling, and possibly Sam, wolf-whistling from behind the window glass.

“Stay,” he said when we came up for air. “You can do all that. Figure out who you are, what you want to do, just let me be there while you do it. You can have all the space you want, write as much as you want, do whatever you want. Just stay.”

I leaned my forehead against Monroe’s. Here was a man who didn’t want control. He just wanted me. I could choose to be with him and still do all that growing stuff. I just had to choose. I leaned back and narrowed my eyes at Monroe’s painfully earnest expression.

“I don’t have to entertain your friends,” I told him.

“I don’t have any friends.”

“I don’t have to join certain groups or clubs. I don’t have to host anything or plan anything or do anything remotely beneficial for the community.”

“These seem like oddly misanthropic rules, but I’m willing to agree to it if it means you’ll stay.”

“Well, actually, I was thinking, what if you moved in with me?” I asked. Monroe’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Not right away. But maybe in a couple of months or so, we could work toward you sharing the house with me. I know you like solitude, but Emmett says my new place is surrounded by married couples. There are no crazy divorceés, well, except for me. You’d still have the whole day to yourself to write while I’m at work. I just think we need to rejoin the world, or it’s going to pass us by.”

“But when will you write?” he asked.

“At night, when things are slow at work, weekends,” I said. “I mean, people don’t start out as full-time writers, right? I have to start somewhere.”

“Just to be clear, you’re not asking me to be your roommate, are you?”

“No,” I assured him. “This offer is for strictly nonplatonic cohabitation, possibly leading to long-term commitment.” He quirked his lips. “I’ve spent a lot of time with Sam this week,” I told him.

“Is she going to make me sign contracts?” he asked, shooting a wary look at the door.

“Possibly,” I said solemnly. “Come make a home with me, Monroe. Please?”

He nodded and then the kissing started again. Samantha came out and saw us mashed against the truck. She sighed, but was smiling as she said, “If you tell me that you’re not moving after all, I’m going to throw this very heavy box at you,” she huffed. “You know, I don’t do this for my other clients.”

“Don’t worry; your manual labor has not been in vain,” I said. “But you might have to come back in a while to help me move Monroe.”

Samantha managed to conceal the beginning curve of a smile. “Good, then you might want to get into your bedroom, Lace. Emmett’s going through your closet, muttering something about ‘ridiculous novelty pajamas’ and throwing a bunch of stuff into a box marked Goodwill.”

“Emmett, leave the candy-corn pajamas alone!” Monroe barked. “There’s sentimental value there.”

“Then you get your happy-ending-having asses in here and pack your own damn boxes,” Emmett yelled back.

“I think I finally understand why my brothers didn’t faze you,” he said as we walked back into the cabin. “You’ve been dealing with your own irritating sibling for years.”

“I heard that!” Emmett called.

“Matt and Andy say hi, by the way,” Monroe said. “In fact, they want to make sure you have their e-mail addresses, just in case I screw up and you feel the need to send out another newsletter.”

“Well, if that doesn’t keep you on your toes, I don’t know what will.”

Monroe grimaced. “I was thinking maybe we’d close your e-mail accounts, at least for the first couple of months.”

“Very funny,” I said, grinning up at him. After a beat, I made my face go serious and still. “You should know that I’ve added your mother to my contact list.”

Monroe kissed my temple and said in a low, sober tone, “I’m hiding your laptop.”