Page 127 of You Owe Me

Maverick sits beside me, less dramatic but noticeably calmer, like his bones recognize this is what rest is supposed to feel like.

“It’s actually… comfortable.” He leans back with a sigh that’s just shy of sinful.

“You hear that?” I curl into him. “That’s the sound of memory foam.”

He chuckles, hand sliding across the back cushion behind me. “Do we think it’s strong enough to survive your sleep drool?”

“I don’t drool,” I lie. “That’s my cooling system.”

“And what about your personal snack graveyard? I’ve pulled entire pretzels from under your thigh.”

“Once! And I ate them!”

He grins. “Exactly.”

But he’s smiling in that rare, real way that only surfaces when his guard is completely down. The smirk is gone. The tension in his jaw, that ever-present weight of control—gone. It’s just him. Maverick. My Maverick. Sitting beside me on a couch he doesn’t have to calculate the ROI on.

And I realize something wild: this couch isn’t just perfect.

It’sours.

Maverick shifts beside me, and I can feel the quiet satisfaction radiating off him like heat. This isn’t just a couch. It’s a symbol. A beginning. A choice. One he’s already made.

“We’ll take it.” His voice is low but firm in that way that always makes my heart stutter.

Janice lights up like we just solved world peace via upholstery. “Excellent choice! Let me check our delivery schedule and grab the spec sheet. Be right back!”

She scurries off, heels clicking and clipboard flapping. The moment she disappears around the corner, I pivot to face him fully, legs curling beneath me.

“So,” I say, grinning. “We’re really doing this. Joint furniture ownership. What’s next? Matching monogrammed bathrobes?”

“Already ordered,” he deadpans.

“Shut up.”

“Yours saysCrumb Queen.”

I gasp. “You take that back.”

“You licked Dorito dust off your own tank top last night.”

“It was dark!”

He just smirks and tilts his head at me. “I love you.”

It hits like a sucker punch to the soul. Not because I don’t know it—but because he says it like a truth he’s building everything else around.

“I love you, too,” I murmur, softer now, tracing my fingers along the seam of the couch between us. “You didn’t have to give up all of that, you know.”

“I did. Because I couldn’t keep playing king while constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering who was getting close just to use me. I’ve had enough of people treating me like a door to knock on when they want something.”

He leans in, eyes never leaving mine. “I only want you.”

And now I’m melting. Into him. Into this couch. Into the life we’re building with flawed blueprints and snack-stained throw pillows.

I shift closer until our knees touch. “You know what’s terrifying?”

“Harold from the apartment below ours?”

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