𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨
﹥━━━━━━━━━━﹤

The air conditioning welcomes me and feels refreshing when I walk inside after a run around the development.

Duke and Stevie, knowing it's me because I used a key, slowly approach me with empty bowls in their mouths.

I pull the black headphones off of my head and look down at my whimpering dogs. They're begging and it works.

Peeling my sweat-stained shirt off, I pace towards the kitchen with Duke and Stevie on my heels.

My unconcerned face turns into a crooked smile when I lay eyes on Morgan.

"Oh, hey," she stammers, frantically manipulating her appearance.

She's perfect.

"I completely spaced and forgot your birthday was right around the corner. Did you want to do something-" I cut her off.

My head slightly tilted as my eyes are fixed on her face, I ask, "You wanna go on a date with me?"

Morgan dawns a perky smile and then giggles. "I'd love to."

My hands are clammy after bringing Morgan a drink from the bar. I can't help it, I'm nervous, this feels like a first date. I'm thankful I doused myself in my signature scents. Morgan's been trying to figure out what cologne I use for years now— I'll never tell— but I'm happy she likes it so much. My rugged, sea spray and sandalwood notes juxtaposes her usual light peony, powdered fragrance.

As I return to the booth where Morgan's seated, I spill a bit of her drink onto my silver/black Nike P6000's.

She laughs at me. "Slow down."

I chuckle, sitting down. "Shut up. Here."

"Ooo," she bubbles, looking into the glass intently. "What's this?"

I nod my head, telling her to try it.

Keeping her arms crossed and on top of the table, she leans forward to take a sip.

"Amaretto sour." She guesses correctly.

I smile, content. "Your favorite."

"Okay." She hums, rolling her eyes playfully.

"So, why'd you bring me here?" Morgan asks, looking me directly in the eyes as if she's trying to hypnotize me.

I slide further into the seat and calm myself, clenching my jaw.

My palms slide over the dark jeans covering my knees.

Tongue in my cheek, I think of an appropriate response.

"I wanted to get to know you." I reply, swallowing hard.

A twinkle brightens Morgan's eyes. The corners of her glossy lips turn upwards into an impressed smile.

"You already know me." She tells me, batting her eyelashes.

"Very well," she adds.

"I did," I tell her, "but we haven't connected in a while, maybe there's something I don't know."

"Like what?" She asks quickly.

I reply just as fast. "What's your favorite color?"

"You know my favorite color."

"It's still pink?" I ask and she nods her head.

"I guess I didn't change that much, huh?" she laughs softly.

"Good." I say aloud, tearing my eyes away from her lips before I lose my composure.

✕

Mine and Morgan's laughter meshes together as we exit the comedy club.

"Okay, okay," I catch my breath. "how was it? I did good?"

Morgan twists her mouth in thought. "Nine out of ten. Good job."

"I'm glad you liked it. I had fun tonight."

Morgan tilts her head with a pout. "Is it ending?"

My eyes widen. "No, it doesn't have to."

"Good." Morgan smiles, walking ahead.

She stops and extends her hand.

"Well," she speaks softly, "aren't you going to hold my hand?"

My lips perk up and curl into a smile. I catch up to her and lock our fingers, hit with a sudden dose of dopamine.

✕

"—Okay, okay, my turn." Morgan says, catching her breath after a fit of laughter.

She gets a phone call. It's an unsaved number, I notice. I don't recognize it so I wonder who it is, but don't pry.

"It's pretty late," I mumble, watching Morgan put her phone on 'Do Not Disturb' mode.

"Yeah," she sighs, "it's no one."

"It's fine, you can tell me if it is-"

"I really want to kiss you right now." She says out of no where, getting me excited.

My body reacts to this in similar fashion to when I was a teenage boy.

Smiling with plump, closed lips, Morgan leans in.

But I stop her.

She looks at me and I can see how she feels rejected, ready to object with her lips now parted.

I curse myself for ruining the moment, already wishing I could go back. The way she's looking at me, so lustful, yet so vulnerable, I could ruin my pants.

"I don't want us to rush things," I admit, although I'm mentally kicking myself for it. "We always do this."

She lets out a sigh, it's heavy but I can feel her agreeing. "Don't you want me back?"

I lean against my Tesla, elbows bent as I push my forehead into my closed fists.

"I have you back." I make clear. This date solidified that. I'm not saying it to sound cocky, but I knew we wouldn't stay apart for long. It's just that I want things to be different this time.

"It's always the same cycle, Morgan: we fight, we break up, we start talking again, and then we fuck and make up. I think we need to address the real problem." I talk into the palms of my hands.

Respectable, right? Yeah. Real mature of me, I try convincing myself in my head.

Who am I kidding, I'm a dumbass. With my luck, she'll take me back but I won't get laid for weeks.

Silence falls, leaving me to believe Morgan walked away.

Suddenly, though, her heels tick on the pavement. Slowly.

Click... Clack...

Like she's doing a tap dance.

Click... Clack.

I look over my shoulder and see Morgan standing there, her purse in her hands dangling by her knees, mouth twisted, her nose cutely scrunched, and foot still tapping.

I break my neck to do a double take.

"What?" I chuckle, pushing my back against my car. I tuck my hands under my armpits, head cocked slightly to the side as my eyes fall on an inquisitive Morgan, and leisurely cross one ankle over the other.

Morgan pops her tongue. "Nothing." She hums, walking down the sidewalk.

Tongue-in-cheek, I ponder for a moment.

Curious, I decide to follow Morgan under the street lights.

✕

Eventually, we make it back to civilization. The bright lights, smoky barbecue sauce scent, whiskey, and country music immediately greet us.

Following Morgan blindly, I don't ask why she's brought us downtown. It's late, nothing but tourists, aspiring locals, bachelor parties, and college students fill the streets with lengthy lines outside of the most popular bars.

It's loud, it's bright, but unlike Port Ember, it's home.

Ever since I came to Nashville for my first visit before the build, I felt a sense of belonging. When I saw that article on Morgan's laptop last year — "Top US cities to raise a family"— I originally thought she had to be joking. No way did I want to move down south. I always thought it was a bit too country for me; I don't even like country music or line dancing.

Then, after all we went through, I knew we needed a change of scenery and I wanted to give Morgan what she wanted.
It's still unreal to me that I was able to dream up a home, bring it to life, and move my fiancé into it. A hefty task for sure, but I'd do it all over again for her - for us.
The smile she had when we told her the house was hers was all worth it. I never want to lose that feeling of pride I had, knowing I made one of her dreams come true.

I watch Morgan almost bump into a cowboy-boot-clad stranger, and grab her by the arm.

She giggles at the man, excusing herself from his way.

Politely, he tips his hat to her and walks by with a wide smile across his sunburnt face.

In the next minute, Morgan's offering her hand to a trio of matching girls in short, puff-sleeve dresses, who are trying to get a picture.

The music's so loud, I'm hardly listening to anything they're saying, I'm only watching women interact innocently. It's pure, nothing but simple human kindness.

Morgan snaps a few more photos and then returns the phone to the dark haired girl in red.

"Aw, she was so nice and pretty." I catch one of the girls chatting about Morgan after she prances away.

Morgan looks at me over her shoulder and scrunches her nose.

"Cute." I chuckle, trailing behind the bouncing blonde.

She turns on her heels and starts to walk backwards.

"What do you say, Colorado, think you can dance?" She asks me with the pop of her feathered eyebrows as she chews her lip.

I smirk, but before I can say anything, she runs into an overweight dancing man.

Morgan opens her mouth and giddy laughter comes out of it as she takes his dark-skinned hand and twirls herself around.

Leave it to this girl to put on a show, I think in my head.

The large man and his posse all gather around and keep the beat of the music going that's spilling out of the bar just a few feet to my right.

Some more people join in, like something out of a movie. They all hop and stomp and shout and laugh as they do some "bunny hop" line dance.

A crowd looks on until a full on flash mob breaks out.

"How does everyone know this dance?" I talk out loud.

This small woman stands beside me and gives me an endearing smile.

Her young daughter tugs at the jacket tied around the woman's waist and then runs to be in front of all the other dancers.

"Does everyone know this dance but me?!" My question amuses the woman.

She laughs and sweetly comforts me with her hand on my arm briefly.

Finally, Morgan breaks out of the mob and stands before me.

She shakes the straight blonde hair out of her rosy face and grins.

Once she catches her breath after laughing, she pushes her forehead to mine and takes a deep breath, looking me in the eyes. "I feel like you owe me a drink." She purrs.

My eyebrow raises as my interest is peaked. "I owe you a drink, hm?"

She stays just inches away from my body and throws her hair up into a high ponytail.

"Ya." She sounds, hands on her hips now.

"Yeah?" I growl back, holding her hips.

A glimmer of excitement brightens Morgan's eyes a shade. I know that look. I know it all too well.

The cycle, I mentally remind myself.

With a deep breath, I remove my hands from Morgan's curves and opt to just hold her hand instead.

Another look of defeat momentarily breaks her heart but I think she'll respect it more if we talk things out instead of fucking it out like usual.

It's a painfully quiet walk back to my Model 3 Tesla. Mental facepalm.

I open the door for Morgan and she eases herself into the passenger seat.

Once I'm behind the wheel, I let out a sigh and reach for Morgan's thigh, pleased when she lets me touch her there.

I start to drive carefully out of the madness that is Lower Broadway and cue some low music - songs from a playlist that I made for Morgan.

She rides quietly, despite the occasional sigh, with her chin in the palm of her hand.

It isn't until she puts the window up once we're away from the bars, that I realize something.

"You really love it here, don't you?" I ask.

Morgan rests her head against the seat and then slowly rotates it to face me.

She nods, then asks, "Don't you?"

I adjust my grip on the steering wheel, and scratch my beard with the other hand.

"I do," I reply. "Is it what you thought it would be?"

"And then some," she beams. "I feel like this is where we belong - like it's our last stop, you know? I'm tired of running and changing routines."

"I hear you. I hoped this move would bring a sense of, uh, normalcy. That's really what I wanted, you know, after everything."

"It's what we needed." She murmurs. I agree.

I come up on a red light and look at Morgan, three fourths of her face colored by the traffic light.

"You feel normal?" I wonder out loud.

She takes a good three seconds to respond, the light changes.

"For the first time in a while, yes. I do. Do you?" Her voice softens.

We're both getting sleepy, the pauses between each word or reply getting longer. We're only pretending not be so we can have this conversation.

"I still don't know what normal is," I breathe out. I remove my hand from Morgan's thigh to drive with that hand now as I lean over in the seat.

I continue. "But I feel home."

Morgan, talking with her eyes closed, says, "Here in Tennessee?"

"I meant with you." My words make her eyes open wide.

She stares at me for what seems like forever, and then just rests her head on my shoulder.

"You still wanna marry me?" I clear my throat to ask.

"I never stopped." Morgan reveals, edging a yawn.

Ending on a light note, I turn up the Partynextdoor song ('Belong to the city') as it starts to play.

"Why are you so tired?" I joke.

Morgan's laugh is muted. "I don't know! Aren't you?"

"I'm fuckin' exhausted," I yawn, "we're getting old."