Chapter 9 - The Weight of SilenceThe morning sun broke through the apartment windows, casting long golden light across the hardwood floor and the yellow couch where we sat wrapped together in a heavy wool blanket.
The awkwardness of roommating was gone, replaced by a deep, profound relief.
“So,” Sophie murmured against my chest, her fingers tracing the seam of my shirt. “What happens now?”
“Now?” I smiled, resting my chin on her soft hair. “Now I don’t have to pretend I don’t hear you when you talk about me on the phone.”
She swatted my chest lightly, blushing furiously. “You are never letting that go, are you?”
“Never. ‘If a lighthouse paid utilities’ is going in my wedding vows eventually.”
Sophie went still for a second, then looked up at me with a radiant, breathless grin. “Is that a proposal, Mr. Emotional Beige?”
“It’s a forecast,” I said softly, kissing the tip of her nose. “A very steady forecast.”
Later that afternoon, my sister Rachel dropped by to pick up some tools I had borrowed. She walked into the living room, stopped dead in her tracks, and looked at the two of us sitting side by side on the mustard couch, my arm wrapped firmly around Sophie’s shoulders.
Rachel slowly smiled, crossing her arms. “Well. It’s about time.”
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“You knew?” Sophie asked, surprised.
“Please,” Rachel laughed. “Jack hasn’t alphabetized a single screw in six months. The man was completely compromised from day one.”
