Page 60 of Unhitched

Chapter forty

Kace

“You’ve really never been to Ikea?” Mya asks for the seventh time today as we stand outside the absurdly large bright blue and yellow warehouse.

I quirk a brow and wait until she turns to look at me. “I do not consider myself a materialistic man, but I refuse to work hard and still pay for furniture I have to put together myself.”

“It’s about the experience.” She smiles, and I know I’d follow her into any maze–even one with a port key to a cemetery at the end. Thank fuck this one will only end with, hopefully, a few minimal purchases.

My lease was up for renewal last week, so I looked into moving us to a two-bedroom so Mya could have her own workspace to create whatever crafts and chaos she wants–especially since we both decided it would be best for my sanity and All That and a Bag of Crafts if we stopped the Unhitched business.

I want her to have everything she needs to make her work the priority she wants it to be, but she also deserves more than to have a workspace that takes more time and effort to put together than her actual crafts.

Contrary to her belief, this is all for show–or as she would say, ‘the experience.’ I ordered her the DreamBox storage closet that she’s constantly going on about, and it comes later this week.

It will serve as every piece of furniture she’ll need wrapped in one.

“Whatever you say, babe.” I let her lead me through the front doors, surprised when she passes the yellow carts and bags and heads directly to the escalator.

Stepping off the moving stairs, she takes my hand, tugging me toward the chaos.

I can see signs, which might give the appearance of organization, but I’m not sold.

Combine that with the fact that I’m a plain and simple decorator, my hell would literally be to be trapped here for eternity.

But what’s the phrase? Happy wife, happy life.

Mya isn’t my wife yet. She’s only been my girlfriend for a couple of months, but not only will she be my wife someday, I already have a ring.

I don’t know if it says more about me, considering I didn’t so much as shop for a ring in the eight years I was with Ruby.

Or if it says more about Mya, that she’s got me so locked in by just being herself.

I haven’t planned a proposal yet, but only for the sake of trying to do things in order.

“Oh my gosh. This is so cute!” She holds up a stuffed owl at the entrance to the maze. “It’s Hedwig!”

I chuckle. “I have a feeling Ikea is too cheap to acquire the rights to Hedwig.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re one of those guys who points out all the plot holes in Hallmark movies, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” I tease without hesitation.

She smiles, but then it fades as she runs her fingers over the wings of the owl.

I watch her for a moment, feeling a shift. “What’s wrong?”

When she glances up at me, her eyes are glossy.

“Hey.” I slip my hands along either side of her neck. “Talk to me.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not a big deal. ”

“If you’re upset, it is a big deal,” I say the words as if I’ve known her my whole life and been there for every crushing moment, and it’s weird as fuck to me that I haven’t.

“I’m so happy with you, Kace,” she whispers, and my stomach drops.

Blood rushes through my ears. I thought what we’ve been doing works for us.

I’ve happily gone on every weekend adventure she’s planned for us, and she’s seemed more than content spending the weekdays creating routines and traditions together at home.

We’ve been completely transparent about anything that bothers us.

At least I have… “Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but?’”

She focuses her gaze on where she’s picking at the fuzz on the stuffed animal between us. “I still can’t shake this feeling that I’m so far behind.”

My heart palpitates as I flashback to the day on the sidewalk.

I did not handle that breakdown in the way she deserves, and I refuse to make that mistake again.

I pull her into the first section of the maze, which is apparently living room themed.

I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to sit on the staged furniture, so I guide her to a modern dark gray and sage living room mockup that has a divider wall blocking off part of it so we aren’t completely out in the open.

“Hey.” I brush my thumb across her jaw to draw her attention to me.

“Hi.” Sadness laces the whisper, and she’s still fidgeting with the owl.

I don’t want to invalidate any feelings she has around this because I’ve had some of them myself. It fucking sucks thinking your dreams have an expiration date. “What do you feel behind on, and what is your timeline for when you want to achieve them?”

She glances up at me like she’s surprised by my question.

Or maybe thrown off. Her eyes flick to the entertainment center next to us as if she needs to recall a memory.

Looking back at me, she takes a breath. “I just…” She chuckles, and it ma kes me smile despite knowing she’s sad.

“I grew up thinking I’d be thirty, flirty and thriving. ”

“You are all of those things.” I brush a tear from her cheek.

“I know. I feel selfish. I have a job I love. A guy I love. One who’s giving me my own crafting room.” She gives me an appreciative half-smile. “But I can’t get it out of my head that once you’re thirty, you’re supposed to be married and have kids. You’re supposed to be a grown-up.”

“For starters, the divorce rate for first marriages is around forty percent. So a lot of those people who made choices just to stay ‘on track’ are setting themselves up for failure.”

She gives me a sad chuckle. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

I smirk, but then level with her so she knows I’m serious. “Mya, I’m all in. Timeline matters far less when I’m not going anywhere. We have the rest of our lives.”

“You’re not worried about me wanting out in another month?”

“I know you’re not going anywhere. Partially because I trust you, and partially because you and I are endgame. Except I won’t die on you like Tony Stark.”

The corner of her lip turns up at the reference. “Even if I can get past the marriage thing–” She cuts herself off. “I’m not telling you to propose or anything.”

“I know,” I assure her, silently happy to hear we’re on the same page.

“Even if I can get past that, I’m worried I’ll be too old to have kids once we’re ready.”

“There’s no rule saying we have to go in order. If you want to start a family right now, I’ll knock you up this month. I’m all in , Mya. So if you want that now, it’s yours. If you want to wait a year or two, I’ll be here for that too.”

“Yeah?” She looks at me with hopeful eyes that I pray she doesn’t pass down to our future child or I’ll never be able to say no to anything again in my life.

“I would put a baby in you right here on this couch if you asked me.”

“Shut up.” She laughs and slaps my chest, still clutching the owl with her other hand. “You would not participate in exhibitionism.”

“Try me.” I’m dead serious. “I would do anything for you, Mya Holloway.”

She holds the owl in front of her, and even though it’s blocking her beautiful face, I can feel her smile.

“Yes. I will get you Hedwig.”

She lowers the bird. “Really?!” Her eyes light in a way that far exceeds my hope.

“Absolutely. It reminds me of the first time we had sex. You were on some rant about an owl on the side of the road and then rambled about how if we were at Hogwarts we could never be together.”

She sighs happily. “I love it when you listen to me.”

“Is that so?” I glance around the mock living room, wishing we were at home. I pull her close and whisper in her ear, “I love listening to every little sound you make. Especially when I wake you up in the middle of the night.”

“Kace!” She tries to slap my chest, but I’m holding her too close. Her cheeks are flushed, but she still says, “Don’t make me horny in Ikea.”

I chuckle. “Sentences you never thought you’d hear for $200, Alex.”

“I love you,” she says like it’s both intentional and habitual, and I love it. “Come on.” She slips her hand into mine and tugs me through the maze. We pass at least ten other mock living rooms. This place is surprisingly easy to navigate.

We walk through the workspace area, and Mya’s eyes catch on a few things. The next section is kitchen models. My eyes scan the few setups around us. Tugging Mya backward a little by her grip on my hand, I peek into one of them.

“Oooh!” She squeezes my hand. “Do you actually want to look at something? ”

“Uh huh. But not this one.” I lead her to the next model. It’s not right either. They’re all a little too open-concept for me.

I stop in front of the third one and scan the area around us. It’s a Tuesday morning that I took off work specifically so we didn’t have to brave the crowds of Portland. There’s no one except a couple of older ladies past us and into the dining section.

“This one,” I tell Mya, and her brows pinch.

“This one? It doesn’t seem like you.”

I glance at the blaring white kitchen. Yeah, definitely not me. But an entryway on the other side leads to a pantry area.

Mya follows me, peeping her head around the corner like she’s Sully looking for a monster under the bed. Fuck, I love her.

When I’m in the nook, I pull her in with me. Her hands fly to my chest for balance, and her eyes go wide. “Kace. What are you doing?”

I kiss her in response, just once, but I keep our lips pressed together as I lift her by the waist and set her on the pantry counter. She spreads her legs enough to give me space between them as she deepens our kiss.

I tug her ass to the edge of the counter, noting the drawer handles behind her legs. Plus, if she leans back, she’ll hit her head on the white shelves lined with clear plastic storage containers filled with fake food.