Page 35 of Catastrophically Yours
"Lately I'm writing from contentment. It's harder, actually. Happiness doesn't have the same urgent poetry as heartbreak."
Piper shifted closer, her analytical mind processing the admission. "Maybe that's why the new songs feel different. More complex."
"More honest," Drew agreed. "I never imagined feeling this secure while taking creative risks. You make it possible to dream bigger because the foundation is solid."
"I never imagined feeling this free while being so..." Piper searched for the right word.
"Committed?"
"Invested. In someone else's dream, in shared plans, in..." She gestured helplessly at the space around them, encompassing their life together.
"In us."
"In us," Piper confirmed, the simple phrase carrying weight neither had anticipated when Drew first appeared on her doorstep with a carrier full of chaos.
Drew reached for the nightstand drawer, pulling out a folded piece of paper covered in her flowing handwriting. "I wanted to show you something. Song titles for album two."
Piper accepted the list, squinting in the dim light from the window. The titles revealed Drew's evolution as a songwriter—less focused on loss and yearning, more interested in growth and partnership and the complexity of building something lasting.
"These are incredible," Piper breathed. "Especially this one—'Calculated Risks.' That's very you."
"That's very us," Drew corrected. "I've been researching small venues for a potential tour. Nothing huge, just coffee shops and small theaters in driving distance. We could make it work with careful planning."
The "we" wasn't assumption or pressure—just natural inclusion, the way their lives had grown together over three months of daily choices to stay, to try, to build something neither had imagined possible.
"I've actually been looking at booking logistics," Piper admitted. "Profit margins, travel costs, equipment transport.It's completely feasible if we're strategic about routing and scheduling."
"Of course you have." Drew's voice carried fond exasperation. "Show me tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Piper agreed, settling against Drew's shoulder as Pickle repositioned himself between them with theatrical sighs.
Outside their window, the city continued its restless energy—traffic and distant music and the sounds of other people living their separate lives. But inside their shared space, harmony reigned. Drew's guitar leaned against Piper's organized dresser, their belongings integrated so completely that neither could remember which items had belonged to whom. The apartment had become something new—not Drew's artistic chaos or Piper's structured control, but a successful blending that honored both approaches while creating something stronger than either could achieve alone.
As they drifted toward sleep, Pickle's purr providing a steady soundtrack, Piper allowed herself a moment of wonder at how completely her life had changed. Three months ago, she'd been a woman whose greatest risk was trying a new coffee blend. Now she was planning recording sessions and tour logistics, investing in someone else's dream because it had become theirs, learning that security and adventure weren't mutually exclusive after all.
Drew's breathing deepened first, her hand still resting on Piper's arm in sleep. Tomorrow would bring new challenges—client deadlines and gig preparations and the thousand small decisions that kept their partnership functioning. But tonight offered perfect contentment, the rare gift of knowing exactly where she belonged and why.
In the morning they would wake up together, make coffee and review calendars and continue building their improbable, beautiful life. But for now, surrounded by the evidence of theirsuccessful integration, Piper closed her eyes and let herself fall asleep in the arms of the woman who'd taught her that the best harmonies came from voices that complemented rather than matched each other.
Pickle stretched across them both, purring his satisfaction with a job well done. After all, he'd known from the beginning exactly how this story was supposed to end.