Page 225 of The Storm

He’s opening the door of the car when my eyes move to the bay.

“Wait,” I say. He raises his brows at me and I glance at Mom. “Could we go take a look at the boat shed quickly?”

She nods. “You don’t have to ask.”

She sends me one more small smile before she disappears back into the house. I hold my hand out to Nick, and he takes it. Together, we walk through the trees, down the overgrown path that doesn’t seem to get too much use anymore.

The boat shed is the same, though. Maybe a tiny bit more weathered, but somebody’s clearly taken good care of it over the years.

The doors are locked, and I don’t carry the key with me everywhere I go anymore. Nick rattles the handle anyway.

I clear my throat pointedly. “Private property,” I say.

A slow smile spreads across his lips, and the look he sends me is impossibly soft. He comes to me, every step calm and sure. Once he’s standing in front of me, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

“I love you,” he says as he holds me, forehead against forehead, nose against nose, our breath mingling between us.

And I just know that whatever happens, the two of us are going to be okay.

“I love you too,” I say.

And I kiss him again.

SIXTY-SEVEN

INDY

I movein with Nick a few weeks after the talk with my mother. I say move in, but it’s more like I just never really leave his place. I float the idea of staying in my own apartment once.

He looks at me for the longest time with the most perplexed face I’ve ever seen on a person and asks just one word.

“Why?”

So I stay.

That night.

And every night after.

Until one Saturday, Dia and Bridge knock on our door and when I open, they shove a duffel and a suitcase at me.

“There’s more of your junk in the car,” Dia says as she walks past me into the apartment. “You should bring it upstairs. Is Nick making dinner? Because it smells really good.”

“What she said,” Bridget throws over her shoulder as she follows Dia inside. I’m left in the hallway holding my duffel with my suitcase at my feet. Nick peeks into the hallway from around the corner and raises his brows.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks as he steps into the hallway and leans his shoulder against the wall.

I eye my suitcase and scratch the back of my head while I push the duffel into the corner.

“I think I just got kicked out of my apartment,” I say.

He steps closer and takes my face in his hands, the pad of his thumb moving over my cheek. “When was the last time you even slept there?” he asks.

I don’t have an answer for that because I honestly don’t have a clue.

He laughs and gives me a quick kiss. “Let’s face it, you moved in with me a long time ago,” he says.

He turns and walks back toward the living area.