Imprint From Out Of Town {Staul-StilesxPaul}

Chapter 39: Forever with you

Forewarning: Sexual content in this chapter

"That's the last one," I exclaimed, heaving a sigh of relief as I set the box on the floor.

I could practically feel Paul rolling his eyes at me.

"You're the one that insisted on helping," he pointed out, his arms winding around my waist and pulling me back against him. "Despite the fact that literally everyone else here has supernatural strength, stamina, speed-."

"Alright, alright!" I huffed, I hated it when he was right. "I couldn't just stand around while you guys did all the work," I reasoned, and Paul kissed the side of my neck lovingly.

"I know," he smiled, and I relaxed back against him as we surveyed our surroundings.

I had brought in the very last box of ours into our home.

Once the decision had been made to move to Forks, the rest was easy. Emmett and the Quileute pack dove head first into renovating the fixer upper we had chosen, and within a month it was move in ready. I insisted they should open a renovation business with that kind of timeline.

It would have been within three weeks, but Emmett had selected some suspiciously high quality materials that took a little extra time to get. I had a sneaky feeling he'd paid for more than a few things himself, which drove me crazy. But he always shook it off, claiming money was easy to come by and that the Cullen's had too much of it anyway. I guess having all of eternity to earn and invest it (with the help of a certain seer of the future) probably did make it easy. Didn't make me feel any better about it though.

Everyone had insisted that it be a surprise for me, so throughout the very short renovation process I wasn't allowed to step foot near the place. However, I was still involved in the decision making. We'd kept the bones of the place that we'd fallen in love with instantly, but revamped the kitchen and bathroom, and reinforced both of the porches. Complete with a pair of hammocks and everything. It looked the same as it had, but perhaps 20 years younger.

The wood exterior and interior had been sanded and stained, successfully refurbished, and the wood shone in the sunlight filtering through the trees. The windows had been replaced with large new panes of glass, easy to open and let the fresh air inside. The only drastic change to the outside was for sentimental reasons. I'd had the trim of each window painted the same dark blue of Paul's family home, so some of his history was apart of the structure. The smile I'd received in reward for the thoughtfulness had been so worth it. Besides, the combination of the many shades of brown with the splash of blue was beautiful.

The kitchen was where my history came in. Or more accurately, my mothers history. All of my favourite memories of my mother were made in our kitchen in Beacon Hills. We went with black wood cabinets, and a gorgeous granite countertop full of swirling greys and browns. But our cozy coffee corner and the kitchen aide mixer in the baking nook was all my mother. Her recipe book stood on its stand next to it, displayed proudly. The lower level of the house, however, was undoubtedly one of my favourite parts. We'd transformed the space into a library for all of my emissary necessities, complete with two extremely comfy lazy boys and a matching love seat. The view of the forest out the sliding door below the back balcony was the most soothing, comforting thing I'd ever seen. I could already see myself spending hours down there, pouring over my research or going over case files.

"What are you thinking?" Paul whispered in my ear, and I hadn't realized I had gone quiet. That I'd gone still.

"That this already feels like home," I sighed, sinking farther back into my boyfriend.

The wolf hummed appreciatively, kissing my neck again with warm, wet lips.

"You feel like home," I murmured, turning in his arms to look up at him.