She didn't leave. As if somehow she knew exactly what he needed.

It wasn't that he was testing her—he didn't want that. If she had wanted to go for that walk, he wouldn't have stopped her. He didn't need her to stay out of some misplaced sense of obligation, some quiet fear that leaving him alone right now might break him. Because, really, he was fine. He was fine. He just didn't feel like moving, didn't feel like pretending he had the energy for anything more than the bare minimum of existence at the moment.

So, he settled. Flopped onto the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, fingers moving through the familiar rhythm of revision. It was something to do, something to keep his mind busy even if his heart still felt untethered.

Fifteen minutes passed before Kate sat down at the other end of the couch, wordlessly lifting his feet onto her lap. He glanced at her, half-expecting her to ask if he was okay, but she didn't. She didn't need to. Instead, she ran her palm idly along his shin, back and forth, her touch warm even through the fabric of his sweatpants. She held a book in her other hand, her eyes scanning the pages, but her presence was on him. Grounding him.

And that was the thing, wasn't it? She was always grounding him now. He hadn't noticed it happening, not in the way you notice a storm rolling in or a season shifting. It had crept up on him, this quiet inevitability of her, of them. Like breathing. Like gravity.

He wasn't sure when he'd stopped thinking of his life as just his own. When the space she occupied in his world became so vital, so permanent, that the thought of existing without her felt like an equation missing half its numbers. They were two parts of the same whole now, stitched together in ways he couldn't—didn't want to—undo.

She didn't leave. And if he was honest, he wasn't sure he would know how to exist anymore if she ever did.

"Can I say something crazy?" Rick asked Kate the following weekend.

Alexis had extended her stay with her mother. At first, the news sent a flicker of panic through him—his daughter choosing to stay away longer than planned had a way of making barely-buried fears resurface. But then Alexis explained. Ashley's family had arrived to help him settle into his dorm, and he'd asked if she'd be there for his "survived my first day of college" dinner on Monday night.

With that reassurance, Rick let the anxiety fade. Long-distance was going to be hard for her, and if giving her a few extra days with Ashley now made it easier, he would make it happen in a heartbeat.

And with Alexis in another state, and his mother who-knew-where, it had been a week of just him and Kate—a week of something that could only be what he would describe as domestic bliss.

She'd go to work each morning, and he would stay home, losing himself in his manuscript, the words flowing with an ease he hadn't felt in a long time. Then, each evening, she'd come home, and they'd slip into a rhythm that felt so effortless it was almost frightening.

On her late nights, she'd bring takeout, setting the containers between them on the couch as they ate and talked about their days. On the slower ones, when she made it home before the sun had dipped below the skyline, they'd cook together. She'd teach him more of her family's recipes, guiding his hands as they rolled dough or chopped vegetables, while he taught her the dishes he'd perfected over years of single parenthood.

They'd eat, laugh, bask in the quiet simplicity of just being.

Then, as the night stretched on, they would undress each other slowly, slip into a warm bath or a tangle of sheets, and forget the world outside these walls existed.

Paternal worries aside, the week had been perfect.

"Since when do you ask first?" Kate teased, smirking up at him.

"Touché." He sidled up to her, hands finding her waist as she set her hand lotion on his dresser. She turned to him, looping her arms around his neck, giving him her full focus.

"You should stay."

Her eyes flickered with curiosity, then she glanced down at herself—bare legs, an oversized t-shirt that didn't belong to her but had somehow become hers anyway. "Wasn't really planning on going anywhere, babe."

"No, I mean…" His fingers flexed against her waist as he gathered the courage. "Live here. Move in with me."

Her breath hitched, but the hesitation he expected—the fear, the walls—never came.

"You're right," she murmured, voice laced with warmth. "That is crazy." She smiled, trying to soften the weight of it. "I only moved into my place what, six weeks ago? I have a twelve-month lease."

Rick's grin was instant.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"You have a lease?" His eyes sparkled. "That's it? That's the reason why it's crazy?"

She narrowed her gaze, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sure there are other reasons."

But he was already beaming, and it was infectious. Before she knew it, she was smiling too.

"You really want me to move in here?"

She let her gaze drift around the room, taking in the space that had, over the months, begun to feel like home even when she wasn't sure she deserved one. The soft lighting, the scent of him in the air, the silence that felt peaceful instead of suffocating.

She loved it here. Even when Alexis and Martha were home, when the loft was filled with chatter and laughter and interruptions, it felt right.

But it was too fast, wasn't it?

A few short months ago, she'd been mourning the loss of the future she thought she was supposed to have. A love she believed was her 'one and done.' Then Rick had crashed into her life, all charm and wit and an overwhelming ability to see her, and nothing had been the same since. Their story had been a rollercoaster of emotions, raw and consuming, leaving her breathless in ways she hadn't expected.

She wanted this. She wanted him.

But she also knew the risks.

Because if she thought losing Adam had shattered her, losing this—losing him—would destroy her.

Rick's hands cupped her face, pulling her gently from the storm of her thoughts. When she met his gaze, she saw no impatience, no frustration. Just understanding.

"When you're ready… yeah?" he said softly. Like he already knew her answer. Like he knew her fears and didn't begrudge her for them.

A slow smile curled at her lips. "I'll need somewhere to hang our canvas."

"By the staircase," he said instantly.

She pulled back slightly, brows arching. "Oh, wow. That was fast."

"I've been thinking about it," he admitted. "There's plenty of room for you here, Kate. You, your stuff… just not the ugly console table. That needs to be reduced to ashes. Promptly. But everything else—"

She silenced him with a kiss. Slow, deep, a promise wrapped in the press of her lips against his. When she finally pulled back, she let her forehead rest against his.

"I love you," she whispered.

His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. "I love you, too."