easy."
"Ooh!" I cooed. "I can do that. I can go to the grocery store and pick up their deli platters."
"That's cheating. If you're making dinner, you have to make it."
"Everything?"
" Everything, " Solomon confirmed, taking me by the arm and propelling us across the crosswalk to the parking lot. We climbed into his car and I fastened the seatbelt as my mind whirred with all the possibilities. I could do a hot and cold buffet with minimal cheating, I decided. "You know, if you lived at my house, there would be more space. My table expands."
"But I don't live at your house. I live at my bungalow."
"You like sleepovers at my house." Solomon glanced over and smiled as the engine fired.
"I do. You're a very good host."
"You have your own drawers and rail space."
"Which I appreciate."
"You could have a whole closet."
"I don't need that much space just for my pajamas."
"The invisible ones? You could bring all your clothes."
"Then what will I wear at home?"
Solomon switched off the engine and turned to me. "Are you being deliberately obtuse?"
I blinked. Apparently I'd missed something important. "Are you being deliberately serious?"
"About the obtuse bit? Yes."
"No, the living at your house bit?"
"Deadly."
"But I have a house."
"You could have a really big house. Lots more space to invite your family and friends over. A closet for all your clothes, and the best bit?"
"The best bit?" I asked, still slightly fixated on the lure of the closet. It was a lot bigger than mine. I could walk into it and probably roll around on the floor a couple of times too. Not only could it store everything, I would probably have to go shopping just to fill it.
"You get me every night."
Heat rushed through me. Talk about selling the proposition! He could have just as well led with that and finished with the closet for the icing on the cake.
"We're at the point in our relationship where we talk about this stuff," said Solomon when I didn't reply. "Let's talk about it seriously."
"I want to live with you, but I want to think about it too," I told him. "I only bought my house recently; and barely just finished making it a home. What would I do with it?"
"Sell it and bank the money. Rent it and bank the money. Keep it and use it as your office. Whatever you want."
"Do you think a yellow bungalow lends more legitimacy to a PI than the back room of a bar?"
Solomon laughed. "It's sunnier. Your clients will feel more hopeful and less like they're trapped in a film noir."
"Why would we live at your house?" I asked. "We could live at mine."
"Mine's bigger."
"Do you tell all the girls that?"
"Only ones that look like you. We can talk about whose house, but you know mine makes more sense. Also, the security is better, and no one's ever tried to kill you there."
"The security at my house is perfect now; and you know that because you installed it," I pointed out. Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong about the last part. In my early days of home ownership, I did have a very unwelcome houseguest that I had to fight off. It was utterly terrifying and took some time and patience before I could push the whole ordeal into the furthest recesses of my mind.
"Fine, you got me. I like you sleeping over, but we've been together long enough that we should think about making it a more permanent thing. We can talk about it again. Just think about it, okay?"
"Okay," I agreed, my head full of the idea of living with Solomon. He was right. We’d been together long enough. As a benchmark, we'd been together longer than Lily and Jord; and they managed to get married and pregnant in less time. Neither of us saw any rush — and Lily and Jord had known each other many years, I reminded myself — but lately, the future was coming up more often in conversations between us as well as the ones I had with friends and family. I could only wonder if it were the same for Solomon.
After many long thinking sessions about what I wanted out of my life, and whether that
"Ooh!" I cooed. "I can do that. I can go to the grocery store and pick up their deli platters."
"That's cheating. If you're making dinner, you have to make it."
"Everything?"
" Everything, " Solomon confirmed, taking me by the arm and propelling us across the crosswalk to the parking lot. We climbed into his car and I fastened the seatbelt as my mind whirred with all the possibilities. I could do a hot and cold buffet with minimal cheating, I decided. "You know, if you lived at my house, there would be more space. My table expands."
"But I don't live at your house. I live at my bungalow."
"You like sleepovers at my house." Solomon glanced over and smiled as the engine fired.
"I do. You're a very good host."
"You have your own drawers and rail space."
"Which I appreciate."
"You could have a whole closet."
"I don't need that much space just for my pajamas."
"The invisible ones? You could bring all your clothes."
"Then what will I wear at home?"
Solomon switched off the engine and turned to me. "Are you being deliberately obtuse?"
I blinked. Apparently I'd missed something important. "Are you being deliberately serious?"
"About the obtuse bit? Yes."
"No, the living at your house bit?"
"Deadly."
"But I have a house."
"You could have a really big house. Lots more space to invite your family and friends over. A closet for all your clothes, and the best bit?"
"The best bit?" I asked, still slightly fixated on the lure of the closet. It was a lot bigger than mine. I could walk into it and probably roll around on the floor a couple of times too. Not only could it store everything, I would probably have to go shopping just to fill it.
"You get me every night."
Heat rushed through me. Talk about selling the proposition! He could have just as well led with that and finished with the closet for the icing on the cake.
"We're at the point in our relationship where we talk about this stuff," said Solomon when I didn't reply. "Let's talk about it seriously."
"I want to live with you, but I want to think about it too," I told him. "I only bought my house recently; and barely just finished making it a home. What would I do with it?"
"Sell it and bank the money. Rent it and bank the money. Keep it and use it as your office. Whatever you want."
"Do you think a yellow bungalow lends more legitimacy to a PI than the back room of a bar?"
Solomon laughed. "It's sunnier. Your clients will feel more hopeful and less like they're trapped in a film noir."
"Why would we live at your house?" I asked. "We could live at mine."
"Mine's bigger."
"Do you tell all the girls that?"
"Only ones that look like you. We can talk about whose house, but you know mine makes more sense. Also, the security is better, and no one's ever tried to kill you there."
"The security at my house is perfect now; and you know that because you installed it," I pointed out. Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong about the last part. In my early days of home ownership, I did have a very unwelcome houseguest that I had to fight off. It was utterly terrifying and took some time and patience before I could push the whole ordeal into the furthest recesses of my mind.
"Fine, you got me. I like you sleeping over, but we've been together long enough that we should think about making it a more permanent thing. We can talk about it again. Just think about it, okay?"
"Okay," I agreed, my head full of the idea of living with Solomon. He was right. We’d been together long enough. As a benchmark, we'd been together longer than Lily and Jord; and they managed to get married and pregnant in less time. Neither of us saw any rush — and Lily and Jord had known each other many years, I reminded myself — but lately, the future was coming up more often in conversations between us as well as the ones I had with friends and family. I could only wonder if it were the same for Solomon.
After many long thinking sessions about what I wanted out of my life, and whether that
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