Love In Colour

CHAPTER FORTY: STUPIDLY IN LOVE & BEAUTIFUL MESSES

The drive home is quiet. Home, to Grayson. Never thought that I'd refer to his house as home, but that's what it feels like. Everywhere with him feels like home. He feels like home.

I usually don't like silence because my thoughts get too loud, but this silence feels right. It's comfortable. The one that comes after a good conversation, after connections made and bridges carefully, tentatively built. The city lights blur past my windows, and I let my mind wander.

I think about Zoe's hand in mine. About Lwandle's guarded expression softening. About the way they looked at me when I mentioned Grayson–not with pity, not with judgment, but with something that looked like hope.

They want this to work, I realise. They want me to be part of their lives.

I pull into the driveway. The familiar sight of Gray's car in its usual spot sends a small thrill down my spine. Home. The word still feels foreign sometimes, like a borrowed coat that doesn't quite fit. But I'm wearing it more now. Trying it on. Seeing how it feels.

I pause outside the front door, and a smile pulls at my lips when I hear music. Soft instrumental; piano, maybe. And the smell of something cooking. I think back to when I came back to him after I met with my siblings. This feels like déjà vu.

I unlock the door and step inside.

The house is warm, lit by the soft glow of the kitchen light. Grayson is at the stove, his back to me, wearing an apron over his t-shirt. He's stirring something in a pot, swaying slightly to the music.

I lean against the doorframe and just watch him for a moment. This man. This man who held me while I fell apart. This man who whispered love into my darkest hour.

He must sense my presence because he turns and his face breaks into a smile. One that crinkles the corners of his eyes. It makes me feel like the most seen person in the world.

"Hey, you," he says, setting down the wooden spoon. "How did it go?"

I push off the frame and cross the room to him. His arms come around me immediately, one cradling the back of my head, the other spanning my lower back. He holds me, swaying to the music that's still playing.

"Good," I finally answer him. My voice is muffled by his shirt. "It went well."

I feel his chest expand with a deep breath, then release. "Good," He echoes. "That's really good."

I pull back just enough to look up at him. His eyes are searching mine, cataloguing my expression, checking for cracks. I must pass the inspection because his shoulders relax slightly.

"They want to meet you," I murmur. "Zoe and Lwandle. I told them about you. About us."

His eyebrows rise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I can feel myself smiling, I can't stop it. "Zoe said she wants to meet the man who makes me smile like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm stupid in love or something."

He grins. "You are stupid in love."

"I am," I agree. "Ridiculously, obnoxiously, disgustingly in love."

He kisses me. A soft, slow kiss that tastes like a promise. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.

"I want to meet them," he softly states. "Whenever you're ready. Whenever we're ready."

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Dinner is pasta with homemade sauce, fresh basil and Parmesan cheese that we pretend is too expensive but buy, anyway. We eat and talk about nothing and everything. About Zoe's physical therapy, about Lwandle's university studies, about the way they looked at me when I mentioned him.