Dresden Gibson

    The first time Cas says it, I think he's joking.

     I'm on the phone with Linden, our wedding planner, and I've been on the phone with him for an hour, trying to come to an agreement on the time-frame for the day. Linden is insisting on a later ceremony.

     "You'll be facing the sunset and you'll be bathed in this glow when you exchange your vows. I'm telling you — it'll be absolutely magical."

     "It sounds absolutely magical," I snap. "But it's not what I want."

     It also does not work with my plans, plans of which I've yet to tell Cas about. It's not something I can spring on him the day of the wedding, though, so I'm going to tell him. A surprise, but one I'm willing to let stand on its own, without the tease of dinner and subtle comments like your passport is up to date, right? (It is, I checked with Olivia.)

     Cas is unsuspecting, has been unsuspecting for weeks. He's on the couch now, watching Home Alone for the umpteenth time, even though Christmas is two weeks behind us. He's also refused to take down our Christmas tree, who's spilling needles everywhere like a popped piñata. And I'm nearly certain his diet has consisted only of those sugar cookies with the pictures of reindeer and Christmas trees and gingerbread men in the center.

     Cas turns his head so he can look at me over the back of the couch, smirking as he says, "Okay, bridezilla."

      I gape at him, pointing to my chest. "Me? A bridezilla?" I mouth quietly as Linden goes on and on about sunlight and glares in photos and sweating and golden hours.

     "Yes, you," he says with a laugh. "What's a few hours later in the day?"

     I turn my back to Cas and say to Linden, "We're doing the earlier ceremony. And it's final because invitations are already being printed."

     Linden huffs and then caves, which he was always going to do. While he makes some valid points, and I could see the appeal of an evening ceremony, it doesn't work for the timeline. I've left a few hours for error but I'm not trying to dance in that window. Literally. The reception has a strict cut-off of nine p.m.

     I hang up with Linden and join Cas on the couch, crawling up between his legs so I'm lying on his chest. He looks down at me as he reaches up and pushes my hair back.

     "I don't think you and Linden are both making it to June 5th. It feels like a fight to the death," he says with a laugh.

     "Well hopefully his death, otherwise you'll be at the alter alone."

     "Huh, I don't know. I may be forced to take Linden's hand."

     "I'll fire him."

     Cas's chest vibrates as he laughs softly. "Don't be jealous," he says and then his expression shifts in a way I'm all too familiar with. "Or actually, yes be jealous. It's doing things for me."

     "Everything does things for you," I respond, my tone teasing. "I could breathe and that would do it for you."

     "You know most people would count their blessings to have a partner as responsive as me," he responds in too thoughtful a tone, all things considered. Like he has genuinely contemplated this.

     This line of conversation only leads to one place and I can't get distracted. Not yet. "Where's your phone?" I ask him, shifting onto my side a bit because Cas is hard and feeling it against my chest is doing little to help with the whole distraction thing.

     "Why?" he asks and then he grins. "Are we going to film it?"

     "Film what?"

      "Uhm, are we not about to fuck? I thought that was what this was leading to."

      I bite back a grin. I love him but he does have a one-track mind. "Can you focus for five seconds?"

     "I don't know. It's kind of hard. And by that I do, in fact, mean my dick — hey! Don't look at me like that. You're the one who crawled between my legs. I was happily watching Home Alone here."

     "Cas," I groan dropping my head against his inner thigh.

     "Oh, come on. I can hear it in your voice."

     "Hear what?"

     "You know what." His voice is low and all suggestion.

     I huff and sit up, pushing myself out of his lap because he's right. It is in my voice but I need to tell him this one thing first and then. And then. Hm. "What do you want?" I ask him, moving to my knees so he has to look up at me from his reclined position. His leg are up and bracketing my hips. I rest my hands on his shins.

     He smirks. "Take off your shirt," he says. "Slowly."

     The way Cas enjoys watching me undress is not a new thing. It's not a thing I'll tire of, either. He's got that smoke screen look on his face now. I do the thing he loves, reaching behind my head for a fistful of fabric. I pull it up and over at a snail's pace and when its completely off I drop it on Cas's chest.

     He licks his lips and then says, "Can you do it again but even slower?"

     I tilt my chin at him. "Phone first."

     "I don't know where that thing is," he whines shifting so he can shove his hand between the back cushions of the couch. "What is with you and my phone tonight? Do you want me to record you? Is tonight our introduction into exhibitionism because I think I need to shave first."

     "You don't need to shave," I say seriously.

     Cas rubs at his chin with his free hand while the other continues its descent into the couch cushions. "I'm stubbly. The curtains should match the drapes, I think."

     "I like it."

     "What, the curtains or the drapes?" he asks cheekily.

     "The curtains and the lack of drapes," I respond.

     "Aw, I'll tell Bianca you appreciate her work," he says with a wink. Bianca's his waxer and he has the kind of relationship with her that most men build with their barber.

     Cas stops his search and I raise an eyebrow questioningly. "Did you find it?" I ask.

     He pulls his hand out and holds his phone up. "Seriously why are you having me look for my phone right now when..."

     "When what?" I ask when he doesn't finish.

     Cas rolls his eyes and says in his most belittling tone, "When I obviously want you to fuck me, Dres, what else?"

     "You're going to want me to fuck you more after you look at your phone."

     Cas's eyebrows go up and then he scowls, nudging me with his knee. "Oh, I freaking knew it. I knew this was a thing. What did you do now? Christmas was like yesterday. If you keep surprising me with things I'm going to expect surprises all the time and do you know how exhausting that's going to be for you in twenty years?"

     My heart rate picks up at the promise of twenty years because I want it. I want it so much.

     "I'm never going to tire of surprising you, Cas," I tell him.

     He shifts, sitting up so I'm no longer between his legs. I sit back on the heels of my feet, watching him. His phone's unlocked and I can see his mailbox with twelve notifications. "Maybe I'll fuck you," Cas says after a moment. "As a thank you. Would you like that?"

     I'm hot. I'm hot all the time. I just run that way, but this is a different hot. Fire in my veins sort of hot, with desire as the kindling. My voice has dropped when I answer, "I'd like that."

     "You're so pretty when you're all flushed," he says next, pressing his palm against the side of my face.

     He's killing me and I'm too turned on to focus. Forget for a moment what we're supposed to be doing as I reach out and grab the waistband of his sweat pants, tugging them out of the way so I can slip my hand inside. I wrap my fingers around him but then I stop, holding him right where I want him.

     "Check your email," I say remembering, somehow. Cas is biting his bottom lip, unfocused and trying not to be. I add, "I'm not moving my hand until you do."

     "Okay, okay, I'm checking," he says in a rush. I watch him open his email. The one I forwarded to him is the second from the top. He taps it and his eyebrows scrunch together as he scans the contents. It's a ticket confirmation from EWR TO LHR departing at 11:10pm on June 5th.

     "Dresden Gibson," he says finally and then he meets my gaze. He reaches out, clasping his hand around my forearm. He pulls my hand away so it's no longer in his pants and he's staring so wide-eyed at me I can't tell if it's good or bad.

     I wait for his reaction. For any reaction.

     There's no reaction, though, just Cas placing his hands on my shoulders. Cas, pushing me back till I'm lying with most of my body over the armrest. Cas, still not saying anything, staring at me with an expression that's unreadable. Cas, stretching my legs out for me like I'm a marionette doll.

     "I can't tell if this is a good reaction or a bad one," I say when I've caught my breath.

     "It's both," Cas responds as he fists the waistband of my pants and starts tugging them off.

     "I love you so much," he says next and he could be talking about pizza, it comes out so easily. Less like an admission and more like an acknowledgment of facts.

     "You are my favorite person," he says as he draws my briefs down. I lift my hips for him, hearing him but having a hard time registering his words.

     "And you spoil me so much I wonder what sacrifices I made in another life to deserve this one with you." He looks up at me now and I can't not hear him, not when he's saying something so deeply honest, something he truly believes.

     "You were always deserving of this life, Cas. Deserving of even so much more."

     "You can't do anything more for me because I have no idea what I'll do back."

     "You don't have to do anything back."

     "Well, I'm still going to fuck you like your life depends on it."

     "Please do," I say and it hits a whining note as Cas leans down and licks away the precum dripping down the length of me.

     Cas draws back, looking up at me as he goes, "Can you reach the lube behind you?"

     I shift onto my side, twisting so I can open the drawer on the side table and grab the lube's that's inside it. I don't even have to dig. It's the first thing on top.

     It is both the most and least practical place to keep lube. We've had sex in this living room almost as much as we have in our bed so it makes sense. But Jack and Amelia have both stumbled across it, and while I was able to put Jack back in his place by recalling the recent can you look at my balls I think I have testicular torsion event, Amelia had full grounds to Venmo request me $50 for emotional trauma.

     Cas holds his hand out to me as he takes my length deep into his throat. I barely manage to slip the tube into his palm before I'm forced to clench the couch cushions. All the talking has teased me to the edge already. It's so good I don't want to stop, but it's so good I need to stop.

     I don't have to say it, though. Cas can tell, knows my body as well as I know his, and pulls back, sitting up as he uncaps the bottle and pours some on his fingers. His mouth is cherried and wet, matching the blush on his cheeks.

     He leans down, hovering over me as he slides his hand between my legs, working a finger in easy. I gasp from the sensation, so ready that my nerves are heightened. Cas catches the sound with his mouth, slipping his tongue inside letting me know what I taste like as he gets a second finger inside me.

     I lift my chin so I can get enough space between our mouths to say, "Cas." It's a plea, a request, and Cas meets my gaze, knowing it.

     And yet he still goes, "Yes Dresden?"

     I give him a look. He gives me a look back. All the while his fingers are curling upwards with so much good friction, I can barely see straight.

     "Cas, please," I repeat because I can't take it and I'm using every last ounce of restraint not to finish.

     Cas licks his way to the edge of my jaw, then dips his head to my ear, and goes, "Please what?"

    My words leave me with my breath. "Fuck me."

     Cas leans back, looking me in the eye as he squints and then says thoughtfully, "Mmm, I think you can ask nicer than that."

     He's right, I can. And I know just what to say to get my way.

     "Cas, baby, please fuck me."

     He grins. Baby is the magic word, one I use sparingly. But if there's ever a situation that calls for it, it's this one.

     He kisses the center of my neck as he removes his fingers, shifting so one of his feet is planted on the floor and his other knee is on the couch, pressed against my inner thigh. He's yanked his sweatpants down enough, but not completely off and he grabs my legs, opening them wider as he lines himself up.

     "You're going to want to hold on," Cas says and he's right, I am.

     He asked me to stop surprising him with gifts, but if he's going to fuck like this when I do, I'm just going to keep giving him everything I have and more.

     We're lying in bed a few hours later and I'm falling asleep, perfectly wrecked, full on Cas and the grilled cheeses I made afterwards. Cas is on top of me, leg hooked over my hip and arm around my waist so that his body heat is my blanket. I thought after a month or two of living together it'd stop, this way of sleeping like we're trying to preserve the oxygen between us, but it hasn't after a year and I'm starting to think it never will. Which is fine so long as the thermostat is set low. But Cas prefers to swelter and likes to crank it up when he thinks I'm not looking.

     He's doing this humming thing now, almost like a cat's purr. I can't tell if it's a post-sex thing or post-grilled cheese (I make a mean grilled cheese.) It's probably both.

     He say suddenly, "Are you real?"

     I smile up into the darkness and say, "I'm actually from the future. I was supposed to deliver a really important message but I got side-tracked."

     Cas laughs but it's distant. He's in his head. "I can't believe you booked our trip. I thought we were kidding when we talked about it. You know, like a whimsical, pie in the sky kind of thing."

     "If you want it, I'm going to do everything in my power to get you it, Cas."

     He quiets for a moment. His breath is even against my chest and I half-think he's fallen asleep until he goes, "Okay, change of plans. Let's elope."

     His comment forces a surprised laugh out of me. "You can't hold out for five more months?"

     "I don't want to hold out for five months," he whines.

     "If you still want to in the morning, we can," I tell him, very much dishonest.

     "I know that's your lying voice."

     "It's not," I say quickly and he sinks his teeth into my nipple, doesn't bite, just presses down like a threat. "Okay, look it's just — a lot goes into a wedding. A lot. And I'm..."

     "Keep going." I can hear the grin in his voice.

     "I'm excited for it."

     "Aw."

     "Stop it."

     "Thats so cute."

     "I mean it."

     "So you're obviously going to walk down the aisle towards me," he says.

     "You're so funny."

     "I knew one day I'd get you to admit it."

     "I was being sarcastic." 

     "Let the record show Dresden Gibson thinks I'm funny."

     "Go to bed. You're intolerable."

     As it turns out, Cas is right. I'm something of a bridezilla. It's as unprecedented for me as it is for Cas, who finds the whole situation hysterical. I'm on the phone constantly, hashing out details about flowers and color schemes, seating charts and music choices. 

     And as the wedding gets closer, my stress levels skyrocket. I'm developing a worsening need to micromanage everything. It doesn't help that I'm running both Private Weston's and Weston's After Hours mostly on my own. It's my intention to hire another chef and at least two sous chefs, but given the fact I'm going to be away all summer, it feels pointless to bring in staff just to have to let them go. It's not like I don't know it isn't sustainable, me running two businesses on my own, no matter how badly I may want to.

     While Cas and I are away all summer, After Hours will be closed and Private Weston's will be held down by Dolores, Charles, and Amelia. I'm actually not sure how much Amelia will be contributing since she offers very little skill in both baking and customer service. But she'll be house sitting and taking care of Delta and Charlie, which is way more important to me than having her help out at Weston's.

     Cas was convinced we could somehow bring them abroad with us, and neither of us wanted to board them for the summer. It wouldn't have come down to that. Dolores and Charles would've taken them, but I much preferred Amelia staying at my place, instead. They've never been away from me for any period of time, really, so if I could maintain some routine for them I would try.

     Cas, unsurprisingly, is zero help in the wedding planning process but he also notes that "if I did help you then you couldn't micromanage everything and what fun would that be for a bridezilla?"

     He's never been good at planning things. It took him a whole week to plan a date with me just for us to spend the evening at his house (that evening I learned Cas had braces, emulated Justin Bieber, and hated losing in video games.) So it's not a shock that Cas can't and doesn't want to help with the wedding planning.

     It does surprise me when one night he says, "I know you're not doing a bachelor night with Jack. Which I think is stupid."

     It's Sunday night, we're in bed early, and it's less than one week to the wedding.

     "As you've told me many times," I say, turning on my side to look at him.

     He turns too, giving me a look that's like the precursor to an eye roll. He thinks I'm not doing a bachelor night because he doesn't have any friends to have his own bachelor's night and I feel bad about it. It's certainly a factor but I also don't feel the need to do something that's considered your last night of freedom. I'm not being shackled to Cas.

     "Yeah, well, I want to do something."

     "Oh," I say surprised.

     "With you," he says quickly. "With you, obviously."

     "The wedding's this Saturday," I tell him.

     "Oh, shit, really? I thought it was next month."

     I roll my eyes. He's really not as funny as he thinks he is, which is very funny apparently.

     "Well, I thought I'd remind you since you usually need at least a week to plan something."

     "Jokes on you because I already have everything planned." I look at him, waiting. "Oh, that's funny. Thats gold. You think I'm going to tell you? He who surprises me at least once a month with something? Yeah, no, you're just going to have to wait and see."

     "Well, when is it? We have rehearsal dinner Friday night."

     "I'm aware. But Friday from morning until then you're mine."

     "I'm always yours," I say and Cas reaches out in the dark, finds my lips with his thumb and holds it there.

     He says, "Not yet but soon."

     I kiss his thumb. "No, always, Cas. Since the very first day."

     Cas slides over from his pillow to mine, face so close our noses touch. "Thank you," he says. "For being a bridezilla. I know I joke about it, but you've been amazing. And I know our wedding day is going to make me cry. And will probably be the thing that kills me, honestly."

     "Old age is going to be the thing that kills you," I say quickly. "Very old age. Guinness world record old age."

     He laughs. "Just as long as you beat my Guinness world record."

     "How about a joint world record? It'll be very The Notebook of us."

     "See, now, that sounds really sweet but I'm nearly certain you're making fun of the Notebook. Which would be making fun of me since it's my favorite movie."

     "What? No, I would never. Of a classic? Cas, how could you even suggest such a thing."

     "Seeing as your favorite movie is Three Billboards I don't even know why I try."

     "That was an excellent film."

     "It was morbid as shit."

     "But Woody."

     "Yes, yes, Woody is excellent. He's also in Hunger Games. Significantly less morbid. Or Zombieland. Dark humor I can get behind."

     "What about Anger Management? I like Anger Management and that's not morbid at all."

     "What's your second favorite movie, Dres? Come on, name it for the court. They're all listening."

     I huff. "It's not that I like morbid. I like good films."

     "Manchester by the Sea, man. Could not get any darker if you tried. And let's not forget — out of all the DC and Marvel options out there. Your favorite is naturally Joker."

     "Again. Another excellent film."

     "I'm not arguing with that but it's darker than this bedroom."

     "Casablanca's in my top ten and that's a romance."

     "Yeah, I freaking blubbered like a baby when we watched it. It's freaking bleak."

     "It's beautiful."

     "And sad," he points out, jutting his chin so his nose smashes against mine.

     "Most things are, Cas," I say maybe a bit too seriously.

     He frowns. "Not us."

     "We were once." Cas stares at me, unblinking in the darkness so I can just make out the whites of his eyes. I add, quietly, "I made you sad for five years."

      "You'll make me happy for more," he says just as quietly. "And anyways," he adds his voice pitching animatedly. "I wasn't even really sad until I stopped writing you. So like one year of sadness."

      "Well I was sad the whole time."

     Cas pauses, going quiet again. And then he sighs, heavily, sitting up. His hands are on my chest, pushing me till I'm lying flat and he's on top. His elbow digs into my rib and I wheeze on a breath.

     Cas leans down, face hovering above mine. "I want you to hear this and then this is the last time we'll ever talk about it again. And it won't be us burying it or pretending it didn't happen. It just simply bears no weight on where we go from here or who we are, okay? Say okay."

     "Okay, Cas," I say.

     "Thank you. Now you know that I forgive you. I know you know that. And my forgiveness, it absolves you, Dres. Because I'm the person you hurt and so I'm the person who gets to decide what is absolvable. And I also make the rules. Which means the way anyone else feels about it is irrelevant. Including you. The thing you did was shitty but it's not the only reason why I was hurting. I hurt because I missed you. Because I was worried about you constantly. And you were the only person I wanted to be with that whole time. And everyone kept saying time heals everything and you'll move on and first loves never last. I kept waiting for the feelings to just dry up. And they didn't. That's what hurt, Dres. Not being with the person I knew I would spend my whole life loving."

     Cas says things like this and I have to wonder who was I before I met him? Because I don't know. I don't remember what it's like to not be loved so completely and fully, for every version of myself, even the ones I'd like to bury, the ones I'd like to pretend don't exist. Cas loves me despite the ways I've hurt him. Cas loves me despite all the reasons he shouldn't.

     And I don't feel undeserving of it. I feel like I'll spend my whole life trying to deserve it, instead.

     "Those were my vows," Cas says. "So I guess I gotta rewrite them now. Although you could just pretend to be surprised."

     I lean upwards, kissing him quiet. Kissing him in the most meaningful way I know how.

     "So can I have a hint for Friday?" I ask as Cas tucks his head into my neck.

     He will absolutely and one hundred percent fall asleep like this, lying on top of me, but I'm willing to allow it for tonight.

     Cas mumbles, "You're going to need two pairs of shoes."

     "That's a horrible hint," I say but Cas doesn't respond. He's already asleep.

     Cas wakes us early Friday, but I was up late the night before working on desserts for the rehearsal dinner and our wedding cake, so I'm slow to rouse. Cas is not. He is all energy for seven in the morning, pulling at my limbs till he gets me out of bed and can lead the way to the shower, where he already has the water running.

     The bathroom's full of steam but through it, I can make out Cas, who's bent over tugging his underwear off. That he's even wearing underwear is a feat because he usually goes to bed naked. He'd been asleep when I'd gotten back last night so that maybe explains why. Not wearing clothes to bed makes me nervous because what if something happens and I have to get out of the house fast and I'm naked? Like the house is on fire and I'm spending time looking for pants through all my dresser drawers. (I told Cas this once when he demanded I join him on this sleeping commando journey and he said that's why he leaves clothes strewn about so he doesn't have to waste time looking through his drawers) (I'd said right, that's why huh?)

     I'm caught up in watching him that he turns and pads over to me, reaching out towards my hips for my sweatpants. "You're so sleepy," he says quietly. "I'm going to have to wake you up."

     He does wake me up, with a slow and soapy shower that is all exploring hands, like Cas and I have never touched before and have no idea what we like. He moans into the crook of my neck as his hand tries to wrap around the both of us and in twenty-four hours that sound will be mine. I'll be the only one to ever hear it again.

     Cas dresses me in dark blue khaki shorts and a white polo that falls somewhere between sporty and casual. I wonder if we're doing brunch at a country club, or perhaps a rooftop place. It's early for brunch, though and I don't know that I would wear shorts for it. Spring has been sunny but mild, coasting in the seventies most days.

     He hangs back in the closet, stuffing things into a duffle bag before he comes downstairs. Our luggage is already packed and waiting by the door and I've left printed notes on the fridge for Amelia, which mostly includes numbers for all the service people — my plumber, the HVAC guy, PSEG. As well as Delta and Charlie's vet and an emergency hotline for pets.

     "I thought I needed two pairs of shoes?" I ask.

     Cas nods. "You do. I've got them." He lifts the bag to show me. "You ready? We're taking your truck."

     By that he means he's driving my truck, which is a sight I enjoy and is not something I'm complaining about.

     The first place Cas stops at is the diner and there's a booth open in the back corner that we take. Our server comes by for drinks and we both order coffees before we open our menus. I'm pitching glances Cas's way while I look at the menu, trying and failing to find any nervous energy about him. Normally he's all nervous energy when he's got something planned but he's very calm now, easy going even.

     He catches me looking and I go quickly, "What're you getting?"

     "I think eggs and turkey bacon."

     "Look at you. The turkey bacon convert."

     "Yeah, you know, some random dude pulled me into his kitchen once when I was supposed to be working and made me breakfast with it and you could say it was love at first sight."

     I blush at the memory and wonder how Cas was at all confused about how I felt when I was making him breakfast at work. That wasn't even remotely subtle.

     My tone is serious when I say, "For you and the turkey bacon?"

     "No, me and the random dude, obviously," Cas says just as serious.

     "You're something ridiculous."

     "I'm your something ridiculous," he says and then he goes, "What're you getting? And if you say oats, I'll punch you."

     "What do you have against oats?"

     "It's like porridge. It's sludge. Disgusting."

     I'm not a diehard oats fan so I don't feel the need to defend it but I do make a mental note to convert Cas on oats, too. Probably with baked oats. He'd like those, I think.

     "I think I want a crepe, maybe? I don't know."

     "Well we'll be in France in five days. And then you could have a real crepe," Cas points out.

     "True. Maybe I'll just do an omelette, then."

     I get the omelette and Cas gets eggs scrambled with a side of bacon and toast. I ask for a bowl of fruit, too, and Cas picks out all the grapes and apple slices leaving me with the melon and kiwi. It's a quick breakfast. Normally Cas drags them out, eating slowly and interrupting the silence with work anecdotes. He doesn't now, eating quickly and even ushering me along as he checks his watch periodically. I'm on edge wondering what he's planned.

     We have a joint account now and Cas gets his card out to pay. We put a percentage of our incomes into it and its meant for bills mainly, but if we go out together we'll use the card so neither of us feels like the other is constantly paying. Those were Cas's words. That I'm constantly paying for him (honestly I am and I'd keep doing it if he'd let me.)

     Cas is quiet as he drives us out of town. We go one town over, and then another, until we're about twenty minutes from home. He's not driving by memory, which makes the commute a bit longer. I know his phones giving off directions and he keeps checking his watch where the notifications are coming in. Suddenly, he pulls over to the curb behind a white BMW. There's someone in the car and they immediately get out when Cas turns off the truck.

     "What're we doing?" I ask, glancing at him.

     "Come on," he says as a non-answer, hopping out. I get out too, just as he greets the woman who was in the car in front of us. She's pretty in a way you can't not notice, with short black hair that's both slick and wavy, reminding me of something out of the 1920s. She's dressed head to toe in white, with pants that billow in the breeze and a crisp, high necked blouse. She looks important and I don't recognize her at all.

     "Dres," Cas says. "This is Janae. She's Prisha's partner." None of these names ring any bells. Cas seems to notice. "Prisha's one of my nurses."

     "Oh, Nurse P. Right, right, I remember." I extend my hand to Janae who smiles at me warmly as she takes it. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

     As we shake, Cas says, "Janae is a real estate agent."

     My head darts his way, confused. He continues, "She's going to show us," he pauses, pointing over my shoulder behind me, "that house."

     "Well like I told Calvin, I do have a few houses I can show you. All within these next few blocks. I know you have your heart set on this one but if it's not the one, there are plenty of other options that check your boxes."

     Heart set on this one?

     Check my boxes?

     Moving into a house was always the plan but after we got engaged it became clear I couldn't go house-hunting, run two businesses, and plan a wedding so we'd decided that it would be a post-honeymoon thing. Particularly because Cas hated the process. Made it very clear he wanted nothing to do with looking at real estate and picking a place. He'd struggled to find himself an apartment, and a house was an even bigger undertaking.

     So I'm thrown.

     Which Cas must realize because he loops his arm through mine, leaning up towards my ear so he can say, "This probably makes absolutely no sense to you. But you were doing so much with the wedding, I wanted to help in some way."

     "But you hate real estate shopping," I say still confused, still trying to catch up with this moment.

     Janae is giving us space, scrolling through her phone as I look at the house that Cas has his heart set on. It's beautiful, without a doubt. It's older, looks like a three-story colonial with white clapboard siding, sandy brown trims and a red cobblestone foundation. The front lawn is large with flower beds below the wrap-around porch and there's an attached carport that I'm particularly fond of.

     "I do hate real estate shopping," Cas admits. "But I love you. And Foer says loving someone means doing what you hate for them. But also Janae made it extremely easy. I wrote down everything I wanted and she snapped her fingers and voila."

     "That's not exactly how it happened," she says with a laugh that is deep and booming. I've never met Prisha but I've heard a lot of stories about her. Cas says she's a five foot spitfire who can start a line in the dark (I have no idea what this means but it sounds badass.)

     "Should I start my spiel?" Janae asks.

     "Please do," Cas says. "I won't do it as well as you. All I remember is that this place has a pool."

     Janae steps ahead of us, turning so her back is to the house. The sun shines down on her, hitting the high points of her face. Her complexion is dark but warm-toned so that the gold in her eye makeup makes her look regale. I wonder about her partner, what Prisha must look like beside her. She has the kind of commanding presence that tells me she's very successful in selling homes.

     "This is one of the few remaining original colonials in this area. Built in 1890, but recently remodeled, the previous owners chose to keep most of the significant architectural components. It's seven thousand square feet with eight bedrooms and nine full baths."

     I make a noise that causes her to pause. "I'm sorry, eight bedrooms?"

     "Yes," she says eyes darting to Cas questioningly.

     "Uhm, Dres," he says calmly turning towards me. "I don't know if you know this but we're having a ton of kids."

     I balk. "Or enough to fill eight bedrooms, apparently."

     "This is an excellent school district," Janae says.

     "Although," Cas says stepping forward so he can turn and look at me. "If they go to the same private school I went to, they'll be a block away from Weston's. And like twelve minutes from the hospital. You can't beat that with a stick as you like to say."

     "You've thought about this," I say my brain catching up with everything so slowly I suddenly feel like I've aged twenty years since getting out of the car.

     "Extensively, yes. You plan the wedding, I plan the rest of our lives. Call it even." I stare at him, unable to utter a single coherent word. Cas flushes. "Oh, the look you're giving me is full on indecent for the public, Dresden Gibson. Reign it in. There's company."

     I try to but fail.

     "Of course it's me being domestic," Cas mutters, shaking his head. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that like eight months ago? Okay, anyway, let's pick up where we left off. We're on a tight schedule."

     My mouth drops. "There's more than this?"

     "What do you think this is, amateur hour? Of course there's more. I'm competing with you."

     Cas reaches out, grabbing my hand so he can pull me behind him as he walks up towards the front porch. Janae talks as we walk, pointing out the original wooden double front door that had been restored. It's a cherry wood with black brass knobs and leads into a small mudroom before opening to the entryway through a set of stained-glass French doors. To our left there's a small sitting room, in a sort of hexagonal shape with plenty of windows and natural light. 

     There's a stairwell beside the sitting room, also to the right of the front doors. The steps are wide and wooden, L-shaped with a landing before you can go all the way up. There's stained glass windows there — lots of stained glass, really. I'm failing to see what's been remodeled because everything looks original to the house.

     To the left of the entry is another room. It's an airy study, again full of windows and lots of space. There's built in shelving, which I hone in on thinking about all of Cas's books currently taking up so much space pretty much everywhere in our house.

     Cas goes, "Okay, yes, ooh, ahh, pretty study. I'm kind of crawling out of my skin for you to see this kitchen."

     I elbow him. "Don't be rude."

     "Oh, he's not," Janae says. "He vetoed so many houses because of the kitchen alone. I'm well aware of the importance of this one room."

     I glare at him. "Cas."

     He throws his hands up. "You're a diva about kitchens. Don't even pretend you're not."

     I follow Janae and Cas out of the study back into the entry. Across the room there's a fireplace and beside it a narrow hallway. As we head that way, Janae tells us there's central air with gas heat, and radiators throughout. Cas makes a face at that and mumbles, "Bit of an eyesore but I'll survive."

     I actually prefer radiators. It's basically steam heat. They're hardy and they really warm up a room without sucking all the moisture out of it. And since Cas prefers it to be a hundred degrees always, he'll actually end up appreciating it.

     The kitchen is just beyond the hallway and it's huge. It's unreal. Janae and Cas keep walking but I stop, taking it all in.

     "Oh wow," I say quietly, eyes sweeping across the room.

     There's a huge island in the center. I think it's made of the original wood used throughout the rest of the house but every cabinet and counter has been painted a dark brown that's so close to black its hard to tell that they're not. This room has clearly been apart of the renovations. Maybe even the sole proprietor of the renovations. Counters run all along the back wall and on either side of the room. There's white cabinets and counter tops, tons of counter top space actually, and a farmhouse sink. This is my most ideal kitchen.

     Cas says, "I learned a lot about kitchens in this process and I stand by the fact that I do not belong in one. There was another house in the running. But it had quartz countertops, which were pretty, right, but—"

     "Not heat resistant," I say, interrupting him.

     "Exactly and it just happened that during the same week I saw that place, you burned your hand on the hot pan you left on the counter."

     "Look how attentive you are," I say joking but also not joking at all. Is this my wedding gift? This feels like my wedding gift and maybe even rolls over into a couple birthdays and Christmases, too.

     "So we deep-sixed quartz. Marble was nice but the idea of sealing counters multiple times a year when I don't even know how to seal a counter? Miss me with that. So granite wins. Also please look at this walk-in pantry, Dres? Like as someone who isn't even a kitchen person I'm obsessed. I can't wait to tiktok-ify this room."

     He swings open a door off of the kitchen, revealing the pantry. I go, "Have you been here before?"

    "No, but I did the online tour thing and scoured the photos. I devoured them, really, so I pretty much know this house like the back of my hand."

     Janae hasn't followed us into the pantry and Cas left the door cracked so I feel comfortable backing him up against the shelves.

     "I'm gonna start amping up my domesticity? Domesticity? Is that a word? Either way I'm amping it. Because this," he runs a finger along my jaw, "your reaction? Oh, I want to burn it into my brain it's so good."

     He drags his finger to my lip and I nip at it, which makes him moan softly. He drops his hand to my chest, pushing against me gently. "No, no. Don't do that. There's no time for distractions today. Tight schedule, like I said."

     I place my hand over his, holding it there. "You want this place?"

     "I want it, if you want it," he says quickly, the answer already there. "I want whatever will make you happy."

     "You, in this house, with all of our kids. However many you want. And dogs, and cats, and chickens if you want chickens. That's what will make me happy."

       Cas grins big. "Okay, wait, let's look at the rest of the house before you make a decision. I know the kitchen is freaking amazing. But there's one caveat and I had to really reconcile with myself to accept it."

     Cas doesn't say what that caveat is, just leads the way out of the pantry. When we return Janae smiles at us like she didn't fully hear our whole conversation in there. I can't get over the kitchen. The large sink, the built-in double fridge. It's the kind of kitchen you dream of but it's usually just that — a dream. Out of reach. Not something that eventually becomes your reality.

     There's a half bath in the kitchen and a hallway that leads outside to an enclosed patio. The dining room is off of this hallway, too, and it's large enough to host all of Cas's family and mine. At the other end of the kitchen is an archway to the living room with more windows to look out on the backyard. There's an office off of the living room and another stairwell, this one more narrow that leads both upstairs and down.

     Janae asks us if we want to go up or down first. Cas insists on going up first, saying that I need to see the master bedroom. So we go up. There's nothing that particularly stands out about the master, at least not in a bad way, in a caveat kind of way. It's large, and bright, with plenty of closet space.

     Cas grabs my arm and drags me into what I presume is the bathroom and—

     "Oh," I say and then I laugh, and then I can't stop laughing.

     "So you see my dilemma."

     "This is actually really funny."

     "Oh, is it Dres? Is it really?"

     "Yeah, because on paper this house is perfect but given your propensity for," I pause, glancing behind me to see just how near Janae is but she's apparently waiting in the hallway, "shower sex, this is actually hysterical."

     "Look, I'm not gonna let the fact there's two separate showers in this bathroom make us deep-six the whole house. But before we sign any paperwork I'm going to need you to sign a clause that states only one of these showers can be in use at a time."

     "You've thought this through."

     "Extensively, yes. Say you'll sign."

     I bite back a grin. "What's in it for me? Maybe I want my own personal shower."

     "Too bad, so sad, you're never showering alone again if I have any say."

     Full disclosure, I have no interest in showering alone, anyway. But I do enjoy watching Cas get fired up about it. Two separate showers in one bathroom is a bit excessive. And the jacuzzi tub between the showers, while enticing, looks like a sex accident waiting to happen.

     Cas catches me staring at it and grins slyly. "Oh yes."

     "Oh no."

     "Yes, yes, yes. Bathtub sex."

     "That doesn't even sound sexy when you say it."

     "Everything I say sounds sexy."

     I can't even argue because with him, standing in this house that could very much be our house, yeah, everything he says does sound sexy.

     Its another twenty-five minutes before we finish touring the whole estate. The basement has a gym, a bar, and game room. Outside there's the aforementioned underground pool with an attached hot tub. Its fenced off from the rest of the backyard, which, Cas points out, makes it toddler safe. But then I point that all our kids should learn to swim as soon as they can, anyway. The backyard is really impressive. There's a pool house and an outdoor kitchen and bar. But it's also a lot of house for only two people.

     And it's like Cas is reading my mind because after we've told Janae we want it and we're sitting in my truck stewing over the fact we just put an (expensive) offer on an actual house, Cas goes, "Amelia should have her own bedroom here."

     I look at him, startled and surprised. Amelia and him are close, that's no secret. And I love it because I'm close to Amelia and it matters to me how she feels about Cas but also how Cas feels about her. But this is still unexpected.

     "Really?"

     "Of course really. She's your sister, Dres. Plus, I feel like she needs breaks from city life so she'll be over often enough."

     "I love you," I say and he laughs.

     "Oh man. Oh god. This is my favorite day."

     I smirk and say, "Well, tomorrow's my favorite day."

     He wags a finger at me. "Alright. Stop being cute. Seriously. I can't get distracted."

     I hold back my smile. "Right, right. On a strict schedule."

     Forty minutes into the drive I'm able to recognize where we're headed. I don't say anything though, hiding my expression behind my hand as Cas silently takes us to the place we first hiked together.

     It wasn't a popular trail when I'd taken him many years ago, but with social media being what it is, it's become pretty popular now. I've been back a few times and depending on the day and the time, the little parking lot may be full. Today it isn't, save for a station wagon and a truck parked near the exit.

     Cas parks at the other end and I get out before him, meeting him on his side of the truck. He's pushed his door open and has gotten out but he's turned towards the seat where he's rummaging in the duffle bag.

     "I have socks and your hiking boots here," he's saying.

     I press my hand against his ribs, turning him to face me so I can cradle his face and kiss him, hard, pushing my breath and my tongue into his mouth. He reacts in earnest, reaching up for a handful of my shirt, tugging me closer. I tilt his head, because it's not enough and I need to be closer to him somehow. And the only thing I can think is that he has to swallow me whole so I can live inside of him. Thats the only solution here.

     Cas pulls away and I make a deep noise of discontent. He's smirking as he says, "Down boy. We don't have time for this yet."

     The yet makes me hopeful.

     "We should just skip the rehearsal dinner," I say.

     He laughs. "Noooo, we can't just skip the rehearsal dinner." There's a playful roll of his eyes as he says it. Like I'm joking around, which I'm not. I'm so serious.

     He realizes this and goes, "You spent all night on desserts for this thing. Are you kidding? Plus we've got the best Italian catering which is probably being prepared and packaged as we speak. Plus plus, what would we say to our family?"

     "I think sorry rehearsal dinners cancelled so I can fuck Cas's brains out, see you at the wedding works."

     Cas's mouth flops open. "God damn it, Dres. Way to put me between a rock and very, very hard place. Alas, I'm going to put my adult pants on and say the sex can wait, the rehearsal dinner cannot. Now come on."

     Cas and I hike the same path all the way to where we rested last time. And when we get there, Cas unpacks lunch from the knapsack he bought with him. It's PB&J with the crust cut off. I often think that I'm the sentimental one, but Cas and I like to pass this role back and forth like a ball in an unending tennis match.

     We make quick work of the trail back to the car afterwards. He's better at the hiking thing than he was six years ago and there's also no pouring rainstorm to make it difficult. There's also no hot and heavy car hooking up afterwards, either. Instead, we sit in traffic and make it with barely enough time to shower and pull ourselves together and get to the rehearsal dinner on time.

     "You're late," Amelia says as greeting when we walk in.

     So as close to on time as one can be when you're sharing a shower with Cas.

     Cas, who looks so handsome it hurts if I stare too long. He always wears these unexpected suits that continuously makes me wonder where this style of his come from. A mark of LA? I don't know. It doesn't even matter. He's dressed in a white jacquard suit, high slim cut trousers and a fitted jacket over a silk black shirt. The pattern on the suit is so muted you can't notice it from a distance.

     "So sorry," Cas exclaims a bit dramatically. "I was a bit busy pegging your brother."

     "Cas," I snap, flushing as Amelia says, confused, "Wouldn't that just be regular sex for you?"

     Cas ignores us both as he pushes ahead, saying, "So, drinks?"

     I follow him to the bar thinking I'm definitely going to need some alcohol if these are jokes he's going to be telling all night.