Page 34 of Dash to Me
“One room at a time?” I suggest innocently.
His laugh rumbles through his chest against my cheek. “Now you’re getting it.”
We finish breakfast unhurriedly, watching the cardinals come and go. When we finally clear the plates, he insists on washing them—”You cooked, I clean. House rules."
I lean against the doorframe, watching him. There’s something mesmerizing about seeing him in this space, sleeves pushed up, hands soapy.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing. Just... happy.”
He flicks the water at me playfully. “Go unpack something in your new office. You made the rules.”
I stick my tongue out at him and grab one of the boxes labeled “OFFICE” in my hurried handwriting. It’s surprisingly heavy, and I grunt as I lift it.
“Need help?” he calls from the sink.
“Nope. House rules, remember? You clean, I unpack.”
The office has a bay window where I imagine putting some bird feeders right outside. One with nature.
I set the box down and slice through the packing tape with a pair of scissors. Inside are my books—novels mostly, dog-eared and well-loved. I start arranging them on the built-in bookshelf, organizing by genre rather than alphabetically, the way I always have. Some habits don’t change, even in a new space.
“How’s it going in here?” His voice startles me. I’ve been so absorbed in my task I didn’t hear him approach.
“Good. Just getting my books situated.” I look up at him from where I’m kneeling by the box. “Did you finish the dishes?”
“All done.” He crosses the room and sits on the floor beside me, picking up a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. “First edition?” he teases, knowing full well it’s a paperback I’ve had since college.
“Very funny. That one’s been through three moves with me now.” I take it from him gently. “Four, counting this one.”
“It’s seen a lot,” he observes, picking up another book. “Like us.”
“Except our binding is still intact,” I quip, and he laughs, the sound filling the small room.
We work in comfortable silence for a while, him handing me books as I decide where each should go. It’s peaceful, this shared task, another small way we’re building our life together.
“What about these?” he asks eventually, reaching into the box and pulling out a stack of framed photos I had forgotten were in there.
“Oh!” I set down the book I’m holding and take them from him. “I was wondering where these ended up.”
The top one is a picture of me and my date at prom. And as I went through them, each one has a good memory attached.
“We should hang these,” he suggests, looking over my shoulder at the collection. “Maybe a gallery wall?”
“That would be nice.” I lean back against him, still looking through the photos. “We need to take some new ones, too. First memories in the new house.”
He kisses my temple. “Already on it. I took one of you making breakfast this morning. You didn’t notice.”
“You did not!” I turn to face him. “I’m not dressed!”
He kisses my forehead. “Baby, you look good all the time. No makeup and hair up in a bun and I still can’t keep my hands off of you.”
I feel a warm blush spread across my cheeks as I swat at his arm. “Delete it right now.”
“Never,” he grins, pulling me closer. “It’s going in a frame on the mantel.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” But I’m smiling too, unable to muster any real indignation. There’s something deeply comforting about being loved like this—completely, without pretense or perfect angles.
