And my throat swells with emotion when I am pretty sure that he threw my pie at the wall.

HOME

The next few weeks feel as if I have shoved the entire contents of my life inside a blender and pressed spin. I’ve moved several times in my life, but this time it feels a bit more nerve-wracking because I’m moving to the first apartment meant just for me.

In winter, the birds sense a change, and they migrate in groups, all looking to improve their situation. After Rachel got married and Wynn moved in with Emmett, it seemed I was the only bird not migrating with the others. But that changed this summer when I met with Tahoe’s friend, William Blackstone, who showed me a beautiful apartment, the perfect size for me and in the perfect Loop location that I adore. It’s a one-bedroom, with a bedroom twice the size of my current one, views to die for, and a closet that I could probably never fill up.

It’s time to fly the coop.

Now, my last days here, I glance around my old apartment and to the pile of boxes I’ve begun to tape closed. The apartment Rachel and I shared for years. I know the creak of my bedroom door no matter how much I oil it. I know the noisy hours, and know that I’ll wake up when our neighbors turn on the shower on the other side of my bedroom wall. My other wall was where I could always hear my best friend and her now-husband heatedly fucking on the other side. I know this apartment, every detail of it, and what it’s been through (like leaks and cracks in the mirrors) for the past few years. But now my lease is up and I have to leave.

So it’s Friday night, and it’s just me and these boxes.

I take a sip of wine and wonder why it looks so spacious without my clutter, and why it also looks so worn without the little details that enhanced it—sort of like makeup?

I have a thousand good memories here. Some bad too, like the death of our neighbor. But despite my sadness, there’s a feeling of certainty that there is nothing more for me here. I’m making a change. A positive change. Turning a new page. Changing my scenery.

This one-year lease will give me time to save up more money to buy my own place. I want to lay down roots and I want to make a home without waiting for someone else to want to be in it with me.

I want to be happy. I want to feel complete.

* * *

After all those weeks packing boxes, I finally move into my new building on a hot July day.

It’s said that home is where the heart is, and the big window facing the west and the spacious closet just for me have already made my heart soar.

I walk into my new apartment, blinded by the sunlight streaming through the windows, hardly believing this incredible place is mine. I stalk to the window and stare at the view I will stare out at on many future mornings. Beautiful neighboring buildings, clean streets, flying flags at the foot of a school and a park. The nearby Loop. I head to the closet and admire the numerous racks, empty and waiting for my shoes, accessories, and clothes. A sense of incredible amazement permeates every pore in my body as I look around, seriously happy and lightheaded.

Ohmigod! I’m home.

Home for now.

Rachel sent Saint’s two corporate drivers to help load, transport, and unload the boxes. By 5 p.m., my friends have helped me open most of them, and I’ve even made my bed.

I get a call from Trent. Although we’re still on a break, he keeps making attempts to see me or stay in touch. I tell him I’m moving in today and that I can’t meet him until later. I expected him to offer to help, but instead he says he’ll call me when I’m done. I miss you, he says.

I set my phone down and for some reason, end up checking the last text I got from Tahoe. Eons ago, it seems.

I haven’t seen him since I went to his apartment. But I asked Rachel how he was, and she told me his cast was removed, and that he’s been spending most of his lacrosse games in the penalty box.

When I remember that, and the way we parted, I accidentally knock over a soda can.

“Fuck.” I clean the soda up from the floor and throw the can away, then peer down at the dark, sticky stain on my shirt.

“Oh, look at that,” Wynn says as she peers out the window.

I’m really not interested in whatever she’s looking at. I’m too busy heading to the bathroom to clean up the mess I made. I try running water over the spot and then patting it dry with a towel. It’s not perfect, but it’s moving day so it will have to do.

I step back out into the living room when I spot a tall guy with a red baseball cap in my apartment. He’s carrying a huge box and a dozen bags from Whole Foods, all of which he sets down on the counter.

“You are a dream,” Wynn gushes as she signals to the Whole Foods bags. “We’re starving.”

I approach with a frown. “I didn’t order—” My words cut off when the tall guy with the cap turns to look at me.

They trail off when intense blue eyes meet mine under the rim of the cap.

Oh god, I was so distracted by the mess of boxes scattered around me that I hadn’t recognized him.

Now I can’t breathe.

I swear to god the floor crumples under my feet and I’m falling from one end of the Earth to the other. Because I just did not expect to see Tahoe here. He’s dressed in his work suit, except for that cap that covers that mane of delicious blond hair. It’s almost as if the wind is extra crazy today and that’s how he chose to tame his hair, rather than brush it.

His beard is a little longer, a little too sexy, and the beast has such a beautiful face that my eyes nearly ache from how much I missed seeing it.

His eyes sparkle at my expression of surprise, and he places a wrapped sandwich from the Whole Foods bag on a plate and hands it over. He smiles a little sardonically, still looking into my eyes as I take it and just hold it like a nitwit, all while I hold his gaze, hold my breath, hold onto this moment.