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Three days after they get back from their honeymoon (an all-expenses trip to Puerto Rico paid for by their generously wealthy Grammy-award winning housemate Trevor Wilson), Rose finds herself alone on the living room couch, staring at her wedding ring.
She can hear Ray and Bobby moving around upstairs, unpacking boxes they brought over from the townhouse and finding places for all their new wedding gifts. The new place isn’t big (Bobby offered to buy them a mansion and Rose adamantly refused), but it’s bigger than where they used to be, big enough for the three of them to live comfortably and maybe even start a family someday.
She looks up at footsteps come tromping down the steps. She knows it’s Ray even before he appears in the doorway, knows him just from the heavy falls of his feet (because he’s got bad knees at 28 from being too tall to fit in the car comfortably and also a high school track injury he doesn’t like to talk about, so he always has to drag himself half-limping up and down the stairs), but when he does appear, soft-faced and smiling, something that looks disturbingly like white paint dusted throughout his salt and pepper hair, it brings an easy, warm smile to Rose’s face.
“Hi there,” she says, “Mr. Molina.”
Ray’s smile widens into a bright, ear-to-ear grin. “I like the sound of that.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Yes, ma’am, very much.”
Rose feels a little shiver run through her, like there’s just so much love for him inside her, she has to shake it out. “How’s the unpacking going?” she asks as she beckons him over to sit next to her.
Ray lowers himself onto the couch with a deep sigh. “Well, it sort of turned into redecorating. Bobby wanted to paint the nursery.”
“Nursery?” Rose repeats, incredulous. “Does he know I’m not pregnant?”
Ray rubs his hands down his face, blushing. “He seems to think you will be sooner than later.”
Rose laughs, and then because she can’t help herself, she plants both hands on his chest and pushes him back against the arm of the couch so that she can climb on top of him.
Ray’s face goes even redder. “Oh, are we—now?”
“Just kiss me,” Rose commands, and thanks God for her absolute dork of a husband.