“Hey.” I stride into the kitchen and nod to Denver as he sits at the island, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Good morning.”

“What’s going on?”

He shrugs. “Working on a transmission today.”

“That’s cool.”

Silence descends, an awkwardness that hovers between us since I confessed about my continued contact with Dad. Denver watches me, his eyes dark, his mouth pressed into a flat line.

"I'm sorry. About the shit with Dad." I blow out a deep breath.

Den ducks his head, pulling on the back of his neck the same way Jax does. The same way Dad did. "I know."

"I know you always thought that you and Dad—"

"Just drop it." His voice is rougher than usual, and I know I struck a nerve, so I let the conversation ebb. Ever since I admitted to my MC involvement, things between Denver and me have been strained. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I know he’s working through his own things at the moment. Still, I want him to know I’m here in case he wants to talk but every time I try to broach the subject, he shuts me down.

“How’re things going at Cork’s?”

I shrug. "Okay. I know I need to figure something else out, start planning for a real future.” I laugh, but it's humorless. "I'll join Daisy in the job hunt and see if she can give me a few tips. I don't even have a damn resume."

"Caleb's gym is hiring."

I raise my eyebrows.

Den shrugs. "I told him to call you. He needs someone to train a few nights a week, boxing. Something about a youth program. Figured that'd be something you'd be interested in. Plus, I know you can fight. Really fight." His eyes harden, and I realize that even though I tried to keep my underground boxing bouts a secret, Denver obviously knows the truth. He's probably known all along.

"Thanks, Den. Appreciate that."

"It's nothing. Anyway, you and Daisy wanna grab a bite at Raf's for dinner?"

"Yeah. That'd be great."

"Okay. I'm gonna finish up on the transmission I'm working on." He grabs a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and walks toward the back door. "She's a good girl, you know?"

"Hmm?" I turn toward him, taking in his hunched frame and the deep line between his eyebrows.

"Taylor."

"What about her?"

"I like her. You did good."

I bite back my smile, knowing that this is about as close as Denver gets to talking about his feelings, especially with his brothers. "Thanks."

"Do right by her Carter."

"I will."

He nods and pushes through the screen door to the porch to grab more tools.

I watch until he disappears from view before laughing. I can't wait until Denver meets the right girl, and she knocks him flat on his ass. I don't know when it will happen, but one of these days it's going to be epic.

"What is it?" I ask her, suddenly nervous as uncertainty flickers in her eyes.

"Just open it." Her voice is a mixture of excitement, nerves, and exasperation and has me ripping into the wrapping paper.

The box is small, and I bite the corner of my lip, spending a whole second trying to decipher what its contents are before lifting the lid. Nestled inside on a folded piece of tissue paper is a key. A shiny, gold key on a simple silver key chain of a baseball.

I hold it up, my eyebrows drawn together in question.

"I had it cut this morning."

"Thank you," I tell her honestly, still not sure what this means. Is it so I can pop by unannounced?

"I'd like you to move in with me. If you want to," she rushes to explain.

"Really?" The word drops from my mouth as my chest inflates with eagerness and enthusiasm. "You want to live together?"

She nods, chewing her bottom lip nervously. "Is it too soon? It's too soon, isn't it?"

I shake my head, pulling her body into mine and kissing her. "Are you kidding me? It's perfect. I just, I didn't know you were thinking—"

"I want to live with you."

"Good. Me too."

"So you'll move in?" Her blue eyes widen, the corners of her mouth turning up into a blinding smile.

"Hell, yeah." I kiss her again, weaving my fingers through her long hair and holding her head in between my palms. "But I'm taking over the mortgage payments."

"What?" Her eyebrows scrunch together. “That doesn’t even make sense. I didn't even consult you when I bought the place.”

"That's the condition."

She dips her head sheepishly. “There’s no mortgage.”

"What?” My eyes widen as I try to process this information. “You paid cash?”

She nods, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing.

“Jesus. Okay, fine. I pay for all the bills. Utilities and things. Groceries. I don’t know. Whatever the hell we need.”

“Why?”

“That’s the condition." I press my forehead against hers, so our eyes bore into each other's. "I know I can't take care of you the way you're used to, the way you probably thought you would be—"

She shakes her head, but I brush my thumbs over her cheeks, and she stops trying to pull away.

"I want to do this. For us." I kiss her softly this time, hoping she can feel the sincerity I have a difficult time conveying with words alone.

"Carter."

"Taylor."

"It's too much."

"It's not enough."

She sighs.

"I really want to move in with you." I kiss the tip of her nose. "So please agree so I can start packing."

She snorts, a bubble of laughter catching in her throat. Finally, she nods and I whoop, pulling her in for a hug and burrowing my nose into her neck. Only months ago, the thought of living with a woman, any woman not counting Daisy, would have filled me with dread. But having the chance to live with Taylor, to take our relationship to the next level, to grow together, well, that's about the best damn thing I could hope for.

"When can you permanently be in our bed?" Taylor whispers against my ear, her breath tickling me.

"Tomorrow night too soon?"

She scrunches her nose. "Too long."

"Tonight then."

She nods, tugging on the hem of my T-shirt and pulling me in for a kiss.

And just like that, my entire future alters.

Over the past few days, Taylor and I have been settling into our new life together. Mainly, I've been unpacking boxes and moving furniture and she's been attempting to blend my things with hers. It’s strange sometimes, walking into a room and noticing the soft touches like photos in picture frames, pillows on the couches in the living room, a bath mat. Things I forgot about. Things I haven't really seen a woman do since Mom.

It's nice. Really nice.

Something even better? Waking up in our bed. The mattress is like a marshmallow cloud, and the sheets are like silk. I have no idea who made them or where they came from, but Taylor is introducing me to a new way of life. Even in a few short days.

"Babe, coffee?" I ask, pouring two mugs and adding cream and a dash of sugar to hers.

"Hmm?" she asks, walking slowly into the kitchen, her hair a mass of tangled waves. She wipes the sleep from her eyes and drags her gaze to mine, her eyes still glazed with dreams. "Thanks." She takes the mug I hold out and sips it, sliding onto a barstool at the breakfast nook.

I chuckle, taking a large gulp of my own coffee and ripping into a cinnamon roll from Maddie's Bakery. It's Evie's favorite place and she and Jax had a box delivered this weekend as a welcome to our new home.

"They are so thoughtful," Taylor comments, reaching into the box and pulling out a cinnamon roll. She takes a small nibble and moans, the sound alone wanting me to drag her back to our luxurious sheets and magical mattress. "These are incredible."

"I know. Jax pretty much bribed Evie with them to win her back."

She snorts, licking pastry flakes from her fingertips. She lifts her mug to her mouth and pauses, her eyes catching on the writing. "What's this?"

"It's nothing, really. Something small. But I had new mugs made." I hold up mine.

"I know myself. But that is all," she reads my mug, the last line of This Side of Paradise swirled across in elegant script. She laughs, the sound bursting forth before reading her own mug. "There is a moment - Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word - something that makes it worthwhile." Her smile softens, and she closes her eyes, hugging the mug to her chest. "I love that line."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Leaning over the breakfast island, I press a kiss to her nose. "That's a very good thing."

She grins. "Thank you for my present." She holds the mug up at me.

"There's a whole set." I wave my hand toward the open shelves above the microwave where six new mugs, all with varying Fitzgerald quotes in different fonts splashed across them, sit.

She squeals, jumping up to read the mugs. Turning toward me, she leaps into my arms, intertwines her hands behind my neck, and pulls my mouth toward hers. Her lips brush over mine, and I hold her closer, closing my eyes, losing myself in the scent of her hair, the light scratch of her nails against the back of my neck, and the feel of her mouth moving over mine.

"Good morning," she murmurs against my lips.

"This is the best way to start the day."

She nods, nuzzling her nose into the crook of my neck and kissing along my jawline.

I place her on the edge of the island, our mouths fused together, and our hands intertwined. Laying her back, I chuckle at the pastry flakes that twinkle in her hair, the playful smirk on her mouth, and the bright gleam in her eyes.

"I love you," she says again as I work my lips down her chest, hovering over the scar on her abdomen.

"Love you more." My mouth hums against her skin as I fan kisses up her ribcage.

She sighs happily, her fingers running through my hair, over my shoulders.

And then we christen our kitchen. Once, twice, three times.

And it's the best damn Sunday morning I've ever spent.