Page 185 of Can't Always Get What You Want

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luca

Three Months Later

If someone had told me three months ago that I’d be hauling my worldly possessions into a high-rise apartment with its own freight elevator, I would’ve laughed in their face.

Laughed.

Mocked.

Told them to eat drywall.

But here I am. Sweaty.

Winded.

But Luca, what are you doing? You own a home!

True. I do own a house—and a large one at that—with a fenced in backyard, three-car garage, a built-in grill I haven’t figured out how to use, and a living room bigger than Nova’s entire apartment. And Ileftit.

Voluntarily.

If I’m going to find out what it’s like to live with a woman—to reallylivewith one—then I want it to be her.

Let that sink in.

I’m not selling the house or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. Cash and Skaggs are currently fighting over theprimary bedroom (which is prime real estate) and deciding whether or not to rent out the other bedroom or turn it into an office.

I mean, yeah—I’ve had to downsize tons of my shit. Like, a lot. Half my wardrobe is currently vacuum-sealed in the back of Nova’s closet. My hockey gear now shares space with a box labeled “fall throw pillows” and since there are more hair products lining the shower ledge than I’ve ever seen in one spot at once, mine are gone. I’ll use hers.

I’m currently schlepping a heavy box labeledLUCA’S IMPORTANT SHIT(DO NOT TOUCH)that I know for a fucking fact she has opened. So goddamn nosey, that one.

Horrible at following directions.

But I’m here because Iwantto be.

Because I’m stupid in love with her.

Because I can’t keep waking up without her beside me.

“How many shoes does one woman need?” I grumble as I step into the walk-in closet, damn near tripping over her collection of boots, heels, andwhatever the hell those bejeweled sandal-things are called.

Nova’s apartment is massive.

Like,absurdlylarge for someone who has always lived alone, and I can’t believe this view is going to be mine, now, too. The tall ceilings, massive windows…this view of the city skyline…

The bed in the center of the wall.

And can we talk about the kitchen? So jacked about the kitchen space; I can hide all the unnecessary appliances and shit I’ve accumulated over the past few years as a bachelor. What is that one thing called that cooks frozen crap in ten minutes? An air fryer?

Now this place is mine.

Kind of.

Sort of.

Officially, yes. Emotionally? Still getting there.

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