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“I wish we could just live together already…”
He nearly choked on his drink as she said it, but—to his credit—managed to play it off as having to clear his throat. “My, my, how awfully forward of you, suggesting something as salacious as luring me away to live in sin.”
There was a beat, a papery sound as she lowered her book onto her lap, and then…ah! There it was! The Look™. The one that meant she wasn’t going to laugh even though she’d found what he’d said very, very funny. The ‘I’m not going to encourage this behavior, Chris,’ look. Oh, he was familiar with The Look™. Maybe a little too familiar.
“Living in sin?” Ashley repeated, still staunchly refusing to laugh despite the waver in her voice giving her away. “What is this, 1950?”
After setting his soda back onto the coffee table, he lifted his hands to either side of his face, eyebrows high. “What can I say? We Hartleys are an old-fashioned bunch.”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s true! Y’know,” he took a moment to assume a more casual position, leaning against the arm of the couch in a way that he thought conveyed ‘Hello there, fellow kids,’ pretty well, “My cousin and his wife didn’t even hold hands until after they got married.”
She’d gotten her book halfway up before she let it drop again. For a moment she simply stared at him. Then, realizing he was absolutely going to carry this bit out, she blew a tired breath upwards to ruffle the fringe of her hair. “Would this be the cousin who got catfished on that dating site?”
“Mhm. The very same.”
“The one who gave said catfish several thousand dollars so she could get implants?”
“See? You do remember him!”
The sheer intensity of the derision in her sniff could’ve set a lesser man on fire. “Yeah. Well. Not to knock that good ol’ Hartley morality, but I think I can come up with a few other reasons that his wife might’ve balked at touching him.”
“Balked.”
With one last dose of The Look™, she picked her novel up, eyes scanning the page for the spot she’d left off at. “Forget it. Never mind. I toootally take it back—I don’t want to be within twenty feet of you, let alone live with you.” Her eyebrows went up and down once as she seemed to find what she was looking for. “Starting to wonder if ‘dumb-dumb’ is contagious.”
Chris feigned insult, clapping both hands over his heart and twisting his face into a mask of agony. “I bring you nothing but joy and levity—”
“And frustration,” she muttered under her breath before turning the page.
“—and laughter, and this is how you repay me?” He snickered…until he saw that she actually intended to go back to reading. Uh oh. Now, maybe he wasn’t a master of the whole ‘romance’ thing, but geez Louise, if there was ever a time to backpedal, he figured it was probably right the fuck then. “Besiiides…we already kinda do live together…right? I mean, when you think about it.”
Again—to his credit!—he wasn’t wrong! For all the time Ash spent at the apartment, it really was like they lived together. Sure, sure, maybe not in the most technical sense, but like…she had a key! And there was food in the fridge that she’d bought, and she made dinner there a couple times a week, and, well, not to call that good ol’ Hartley morality into question (again), but she did spend most nights there, so…
“I mean our own plaaace…” Down the novel went again, revealing an overly dramatic pout that assured him that her returning to her book had just been a feint of her own and not actual irritation. “One that we get to pick out and decorate and like…make our own!”
He sighed wistfully as he leaned into the crook of the couch’s arm, letting his gaze go far-off. “Ah yes, the height of suburban romance…going to Ikea.”
“Oh my God. I’m being so serious, you dork.”
“I am too! I love those little meatballs they sell th—ow! Hey!” Too late. He reacted far, far too late. The pillow managed to bop him right in the solar plexus, surprising him more than anything else. “Look, I—would you quit that?! I…oh for fuck’s sake, you gimme that…” He wrestled the pillow away from her after receiving another bonk (that time square on the top of his head), tossing it over his shoulder to fall harmlessly to the floor where it could never, ever hurt anyone again, ever. “I have to joke about it, okay? I have to, Ash, because there’s a very real chance that you’re going to see me struggle to put together a, a…I dunno, bookshelf or something, and you’re gonna watch me there, sitting on the floor surrounded by instruction pages and pieces-parts, face just dripping with sweat as I desperately try to figure out which one’s the Phillips head screwdriver and which one’s the flathead screwdriver, and you’re going to see this sad, sad display before you and think ‘Huh. So this is the one I chose to spend the rest of my life with? Well. Shit.’ And then where does that leave me, Ash? Where does that leave me and my pride?”
During his whole spiel, she’d sat there watching him, her arms folded across her chest, fingers drumming against her arm. Only once she saw he was done rambling did she raise her eyebrows, The Look™ melting away into a smile that was almost indescribably fond. “I really hope you’re not being serious right now.”
“That’s the thing! I’m only sort of joking! I—oh, so wait, that’s what gets you to laugh? That? My moment of earnest vulnerability gives you the giggles but my comedy gold gets nothing?” Once she’d started, though, he was helpless to keep from joining in, reaching up to cover his face with his hands as he laughed. “I’m so glad that my self-doubt brings you such entertainment. This is exactly the kinda love all those Disney movies promised me growing up…”
“How about this—I can put together the Ikea stuff, and you can like…”
“Pick out houseplants?”
She grimaced, an expression he thought (read: hoped) was at least mostly a joke of her own. “Eh…”
“Oh, so now you don’t trust my taste in plants? I see how it is. I’m starting to question the strength of the foundation of this whole relationship. Like what even are we, Ashley?”
“No, it’s not that! It’s just, uh…” The grimace tightened, or widened, or did something. “Do you really think either of us could keep a plant alive?”
Ah. That.
A valid point.
“Okay then, uh, not that. But I could…oh, I could set up the WiFi and the tv?”
“Perfect!”
“Then it’s settled.” He paused for effect before clearing his throat quietly. “Even though we already have fully assembled furniture and working WiFi here…in the place where we live…together…”
She let out a defeated groan, finally giving up and shutting her book after dog-earing the page. “Okay, fine. I wasn’t going to say it out loud, but since you won’t let it go, like…when I said ‘Gee, I sure wish we could live together,’ I guess I was just kinda hoping you would’ve picked up on the implied ‘Without Josh’ that went along with it.”
From where he’d been sitting, wedged between the two of them on the couch, Josh snorted a low laugh. “Tough shit, girly girl—Cochise ‘n me took a blood oath when we were kids. We’re a package deal ‘til we’re at least eighty-two.”
“A bloo—know what? No. I don’t want to know.” She sighed again, rolling her eyes when Josh draped his arms around both of their shoulders to pull them in closer to him.
“Better get used to it, too, cuz the three of us? Hoo boy, we’re stuck together right until the bitter end. Don’t worry though, I’ll carry my weight! I can definitely keep your hypothetical houseplants alive. Oh, important and related question: How do you guys feel about Venus flytraps? Yea? Nay?”
Chris couldn’t help but laugh when he caught Ash’s eye, offering her a cramped shrug in way of an apology. She wasn’t giving Josh The Look™, but it was A Look™ all the same, and yikes, he was pretty familiar with that one too. “I’ll get the pillow,” he mouthed to her before pantomiming smothering Josh to death.