“No. I don’t want to get married.” When he raised his brows, I said emphatically, “I don’t. I don’t need a legal piece of paper to tell mefor better or for worse.”
He smiled.
“What?”
“You just became an Old Lady, and you don’t even realize it.”
* * *
“What kind of house do you want?” Slash murmured.
“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” I said.
“It’s barely eight o’clock,” he pointed out. “I might be old, but I’m notthatold.”
I smiled against him. We were cuddled up together, cocooned, sheltered from the world.
“Brooklyn?”
“Hmm?”
“House.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re thinking? How do you not know what kind of house you want?”
“Because until very recently, I was planning on living in the apartment above the bakery for all eternity.”
He blew out a breath of air, which teased the damp hair at my temple. I snuggled closer to him.
“You know what I really want?” I asked.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t care what it looks like. Not really. I just want a house that can become a home for my family. I want a house with a kitchen that’s huge. I want a backyard with a fence. Maybe a dog. Maybe two. I don’t know. I just—I just want more of what I had growing up.”
“And what did you have growing up?”
“I had so much love that I didn’t even miss that my mom was gone. It was her loss, Slash. My dad loved me enough for two parents. We were buds. I want that again. I want that for our family. I don’t care where we live or what the house looks like. Just so long as you come home to me every night and you promise me more of this.”
“God, woman. You make it so damn easy.”
“What about you?”
“What about me, what?”
“What do you want our house to look like?”
“High ceilings. I don’t want to feel trapped.”
“Should we emotionally unpack that, or…”
He gently pinched my hip, causing me to laugh.
“Physically. I don’t want to be physically trapped,” he clarified.
“Is this weird for you? Living in a house after such a long time on the road?”