Mitch continued, “Not big on Bud and Billie sharin’ a room for another six months but they’re used to it, they’re both still kids and, one way or another, on the horizon they’ll have their own space.”
I was hearing him but I was stuck on what he said earlier.
“You want us to move in with you?”
“Yeah.”
“You want us to move in with you.” I repeated but not in question form this time.
His brows drew together and he repeated too, “Yeah.”
“But…uh…Mitch,” I started. “We’ve been together just over a month.”
“I look like a man who doesn’t know what he wants?” Mitch asked and I blinked.
No, he not only didn’t look like that kind of man, he didn’t act like that kind of man and this was because he wasn’t that kind of man.
“No,” I whispered.
“Okay, then do I look like a man who wouldn’t recognize he’s got what he wants when he finds it?”
Ohmigod!
My chest started burning and I forced out another, “No.”
Mitch held my eyes and drew in a short breath.
Then he said, “I’m not talkin’ about tomorrow. I’m talkin’ about January. I was already thinkin’, come November, it was time for me to make a move. That wasn’t about you but now you and those kids are in my life, it’s become about you so you’ll need to be in on this. Shit goes down between us that’s not good, which, baby,” he gave me another squeeze, “is not gonna happen, then you all still have your place. But if it doesn’t, six months from now or before, if we’re ready, you either jump your lease or give it up and we keep on keepin’ on but in a house we own where we got privacy and those kids do too.”
I stared at him.
Mitch allowed this for two seconds then prompted, “You with me?”
“You think I’m a Ten Point Five,” I blurted on a whisper.
His brows drew together again and he asked, “What?”
“Or, at the very least, an Eight,” I blathered on.
“Uh, baby…what?”
I stared at him some more.
I felt his arms around me while we were standing in my bedroom. A bedroom his sister helped me decorate. A bedroom where his kickass sports jackets and shirts were in my closet, his boxers and socks in my drawers and our conversation was about moving in together even though we’d semi-kinda-already moved in together.
So I let it all hang out.
“You’re a Ten Point Five,” I informed him.
“Baby…what?” he asked, slightly confused, slightly impatient, slightly annoyed because, I figured, he knew what I was saying.
“Mara’s World has zones, Ones to Threes, Fours to Sixes and Sevens to Tens,” I told him quietly, his face registered less confusion more annoyance but I powered on. “You’re a Ten Point Five.”
“Mara –”
“Mom convinced me I was a Two Point Five.”
Mitch fell silent but he did this while his face darkened ominously.