"Hell yeah! That would be awesome," Zeke exclaims. "Then I wouldn't need to worry about finding an apartment." His reaction catches me off guard at first. I figured he would want to think it over before giving me an answer, but he seems as excited as I am. I feel at ease with my decision to buy a house and have Zeke as a roommate. Knowing my best friend will be there with me on this new adventure gives me peace of mind and makes me feel safe.
The ding of my laptop catches our attention. Hopefully, Mick has sent me some listings. I quickly get up, grab my laptop from the kitchen table, and sit back down on the couch. Scrolling through my emails, I notice the first one is from him.
"Z, get your butt over here and look at these listings Mick sent me." There are seven property listings in total; four are in Sugar Creek. Zeke sits down beside me on the couch and leans in, his woodsy scent overtaking me. I savor the feel of his body pressing against my side as we stare at the screen.
The first two listings don't have anything I want, other than being in Sugar Creek. They don't offer much land, and they are in the middle of town. I want something on the outskirts. When I click on the third listing, an indescribable feeling washes over me as I look at the pictures. All I know for sure is that it feels familiar, and instantly, I think, "This is it. This is the one—my new home."
It is a two-story farmhouse with peeling white paint, a stunning wraparound porch, and a gazebo in one corner. The interior photos only reinforce my feeling that the house is perfect for me. The kitchen is spacious, with an island in the center and plenty of cabinets for storage. The library is on the first floor, featuring large bay windows. The staircase has a beautiful oak finish that matches the rest of the house's woodwork. A few areas need cosmetic updates, like a fresh coat of paint and minor repairs. With Zeke's help, I know we can turn this house into my dream home. The best part is the seven acres of land—plenty for hosting cookouts and parties. After looking through the photos, I turn to Zeke for his opinion.
"What do you think of this one? I'm thinking it's the one." Zeke leans closer to the screen to get a better look at the listing. His movement sends a shiver down my arm, making me edge away from him a bit. He doesn't seem to notice; he is focused on the property. I hope he feels the same way I do. I value his opinion and want him to feel right at home.
He finally shifts his gaze toward me. "I think the house has good bones and definitely has that charming, down-home feel. Based on the pictures, though, it could use some work. Luckily, you know a good-looking handyman who can help make your dream home a reality," he jokes, a warm smile spreading across his face.
Laughing, I playfully shove his shoulder. The doorbell rings loudly, pulling us out of our conversation. Opening the door, we find the delivery person standing there with our food. My stomach growls, making it clear it has been neglected and needs attention. The sound makes Zeke and the delivery guy laugh. It isn't my fault; the savory scent of subs and garlic bread wafts through the open door. Looking at the bags of food makes my stomach growl again in anticipation. Zeke thanks the delivery person and hands me the food. As I walk to the kitchen table, he detours into the kitchen to grab a couple of cans of cola from the fridge, then joins me at my small kitchen table.
We eat our subs while chatting about our week. This routine has helped me through some of the toughest times in my life. I feel so comfortable around him that I'm not afraid to express how I feel—about everything except him. I'm a cliché, I guess, because I'm in love with my best friend. My heart races, and butterflies take flight in my belly at every innocent touch or look from him. I've often daydreamed about his reaction to my feelings, but I've never dared to confess them. My biggest fear is that he will reject me and it will affect our friendship. So, for now, I keep these feelings bottled up.
We always end our nights the same way: watching a movie together. Each night, we take turns choosing what to watch, and tonight is his turn. He chooses a horror film, a genre I usually avoid, but I don't mind—it is just another excuse to be close to him. As the movie plays, I find myself drawn into his presence, feeling safe and comforted. Somewhere along the way, I must doze off because I wake up to something unexpected. Zeke's gentle touch caresses my hair, his fingers lazily drifting through the strands. My head has softly fallen into his lap, and he is smiling down at me, a tender, affectionate smile that makes my heart flutter. His eyes hold a warmth that feels like home, and I can sense the care in his touch. Emboldened by his gaze, I slowly sit up, feeling a mix of shyness and longing as I move away from him just enough to look into his eyes more clearly. Zeke stands and stretches, his movements smooth and relaxed, as if he has all the time in the world to enjoy this quiet, intimate moment.
"Good night, Rocky. I'll call you sometime tomorrow," he whispers, his voice warm with affection. He leans down and gently kisses the crown of my head, his fingers lingering for a moment before he straightens and quietly leaves the room. The door closes with a soft click behind him, leaving a faint echo of footsteps fading away. After he is gone, I glance around the living room, noticing the scattered magazines, the dim evening light filtering through the curtains, and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. I quickly tidy up the space, stacking the cushions and smoothing out the crumpled throw blanket. A wave of exhaustion washes over me, heavy and slow, like a dense fog settling deep into my bones. I move toward my bedroom, each step weighted and deliberate, until I finally sink onto the mattress. Sliding beneath the cool, smooth sheets, I feel the soft fabric embrace me. As I close my eyes, darkness envelops my vision, and my body melts into the mattress, surrendering to sleep.
I find myself in a strange dream about my mom. All day, I have wondered if she would be proud of me for this milestone in my life, but what I see in the dream is unsettling. She is standing outside the house I want to buy, but her expression is twisted with sorrow. Tears stream down her face, and her eyes hold a pleading look that makes my stomach tighten. I try to reach out, but she recoils, as if afraid of me. Every attempt to bridge the gap seems to push her farther away, increasing my panic. Suddenly, the sharp ring of the alarm clock snaps me back to reality. I wake up shaken, clutching the sheets. Is my mom trying to send me a warning through that dream, or is my mind playing tricks on me? I push the chilling feeling aside and get up, but the sense of unease lingers.