Chapter 1
The apartment smelled of rain and burnt toast. It was a scent Sloane had come to associate entirely with happiness.
It was a small space. A shoebox, really. If you stretched your arms out in the center of the living room, you could touch the kitchen counter with one hand and the peeling wallpaper of the bedroom door with the other. The floorboards groaned under the weight of a heavy step, and the radiator hissed like an angry cat whenever the temperature dropped below fifty.
But to Sloane, it was a palace.
She sat cross-legged on the mattress that lay directly on the floor, folding a receipt from the grocery store into a delicate crane. Her fingers moved with practiced ease. Fold. Crease. Tuck.
The front door unlocked with a familiar jiggle. You had to lift the handle up and to the left. It was a trick only the two of them knew.
Sloane didn't look up. She just smiled as the door swung open, bringing the damp chill of the city hallway into their warm sanctuary.
"I'm home," a voice rasped. It was deep, tired, and wrapped around her like a blanket.
Hayes kicked off his heavy work boots by the door. He lined them up perfectly against the wall like he always did. He treated their tiny, rented life with the reverence of a museum curator. He walked over to the mattress, his socks sliding on the wood, and collapsed face-first onto the pillows beside her.
Sloane placed the paper crane on his shoulder. "Tough day?"
Hayes groaned into the pillow. He rolled over, capturing her waist with an arm that felt heavy and solid. He pulled her down until she was hovering over him. His face was smudged with grease on the cheekbone. His dark hair was a mess from wearing a beanie all day. He looked exhausted. He looked beautiful.
"Boss was on a tear," Hayes murmured. His blue eyes finally opened to find hers. "And the transmission blew on the delivery truck. Had to unload everything by hand in the rain."
Sloane traced the line of his jaw with her thumb. "I made soup."
"You made soup?"
"I made hot water with a bouillon cube and some leftover noodles," she corrected softly. "But I put it in the nice bowls."
Hayes smiled. The transformation was instant. The exhaustion seemed to bleed out of him, replaced by that boyish, adoring look that still made her stomach flip five years later. "You are a magician, Sloane. I don't know why you stay with a guy who can't even buy you real broth."
"I like the salty water," she whispered. She leaned down to kiss the grease smudge on his cheek. "And I like the guy."
He tightened his grip on her waist. "Just like?"
"Tolerate. Barely."
Hayes laughed. It was a low rumble that vibrated against her chest. He pulled her down completely then, tucking her against his side. The window rattled as a subway train passed nearby, shaking the whole building. In any other apartment, in any other life, it would have been an annoyance. Here, it was just the heartbeat of their home.
They lay there for a long time. Just breathing. Sloane rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. She thought about the life she had left behind five years ago. It hadn't been grand, but it had been strict. It had been cold. Her father had been a hard man with hard rules, and he had never approved of Hayes.
She had chosen love over her family. She had chosen this creaky floor and this soup over a father who couldn't understand her. And lying here, wrapped in Hayes's warmth, she knew she had made the right choice.
"I have something for you," Hayes said suddenly.
Sloane propped herself up on an elbow. "Hayes, we said no gifts until payday. The electric bill is due on Friday."
"It's not a gift. It's... a find."
He reached into the pocket of his work jeans and pulled out a small, slightly crumpled object. He held it up to the light of the single lamp that sat on the floor.
It was a glass marble.
It wasn't just any marble. It was a swirling galaxy of deep blues and flecks of gold. It was chipped slightly on one side, but it caught the light in a way that made it look like a captured planet.
"Found it wedged in the pavement outside the warehouse," Hayes said. He rolled it between his calloused fingers. "I looked down, and everything was gray. Gray concrete, gray sky, gray puddles. And then there was this thing. Just shining."
He took her hand and pressed the cool glass into her palm.
"It reminded me of you," he said. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Bright. Colorful. Completely out of place in a mess like this."
Sloane’s chest tightened. It was a piece of trash. A discarded toy. And yet, holding it, she felt like he had just given her a diamond the size of a fist.
"It's perfect," she said, closing her fingers over it.
"One day," Hayes promised. His eyes searched hers with a fierce intensity. "One day, Sloane, I’m going to buy you real things. I’m going to buy you a house that doesn't shake when the train goes by. I’m going to fill it with flowers. I’m going to get you a ring that isn't made of paper or string."
Sloane shook her head. She pressed her forehead against his. "I don't need a house, Hayes. I don't need flowers."
"Everyone needs flowers."
"I have you," she said firmly. "We have this. That’s all I ever wanted."
And she meant it. She had grown up lonely, and she had been starving for affection her whole life. It was only here, sharing a bouillon cube soup and holding a chipped marble, that she finally felt full.
Hayes let out a soft breath and kissed her. It wasn't a hungry kiss. It was a slow, reverent seal of a promise. It tasted of rain and salt and absolute devotion.
"You and me," he whispered against her lips.
"You and me," she echoed. "Against the world."
Later that night, after they had eaten the soup and washed the bowls in the tiny sink, they curled up together on the mattress. The city lights filtered through the thin curtains. They painted patterns on the ceiling. Hayes fell asleep first, his arm thrown protectively over her waist, his breathing heavy and deep.
Sloane lay awake for a moment, twirling the blue marble in her fingers. She looked at the peeling paint. She looked at the water stain in the corner that looked like a rabbit. She looked at the man who worked ten hours a day just to keep a roof over their heads.
She placed the marble on the nightstand next to the paper crane.
Perfect, she thought, closing her eyes. We are absolutely perfect.
She didn't know that it was the last night she would ever think that.
