By the time he arrived at the townhouse, it was nearly 2 a.m. Bradley waved to his driver and made his way up the stairs, using his key and code to unlock the door. The house was dark and silent; Mom and Holly had probably been asleep for hours.
Two more days, he thought. But who's counting?
Stefani would arrive Sunday morning, and Irina volunteered to drop Lea off after breakfast. His family back together.
Kicking off his shoes and setting down his giant duffel bag, he stretched his arms over his head, cracking his neck to relieve the tension of a cross-country commute. The dogs, those lazybones, didn't even come to greet him. They were probably snuggled in a pile on the floor in his mother's room. He knew he should just go to bed himself, but old habits die hard.
Bradley moved through the darkened kitchen silently, relying on muscle memory and the soft glow from the twinkly lights in the backyard. The menu for tonight: Rice Krispies. The comforts of home. In all his years of bi-coastal life, he never was very good at living in more than one place. He was forever wishing he had a certain book or shirt he'd left in New York or LA. As the pandemic raged around him in 2020, Bradley found that staying at home was the easiest part of the ordeal for him.
Crunching on his cereal, reflecting on the haven this home had provided them during those terrifying months, Bradley remembered Stefani's clandestine visit. They'd both been in relationships, but when she snuck over for a socially distanced backyard dinner on her first trip back to New York, they dined alone. True to form, neither of them spent much time talking about their significant others, and he told himself that the urge to touch her, even just a hug or a hand on her shoulder, was due to the strain of limited human contact.
He told himself a lot of things.
Bradley rinsed his bowl and set it in the sink next to an empty mug. As he gave the room a final once-over, he noticed a damp tea bag sitting on a dish next to the stove. He smirked and another memory swam back to him. He recalled giving Stefani a gentle ribbing over this habit shortly after she'd moved in.
"Why not just throw it away?" he'd asked with a teasing grin. "You never use it again and it's more work to get out that little plate than it would be to turn and put it in the trash."
"My grandma always saves them, so I do too. Is that alright with you?" Stefani retorted, her voice playfully defensive. "You better quit micromanaging me, Mr. Changes His Socks Four Times a Day."
"Not the same at all!" he sputtered. "Different activities require different socks!"
He was almost out of the kitchen when the realization stopped him in his tracks. He looked at the tea bag again. It couldn't be. Maybe Holly had the same habit? No, Holly didn't drink tea. But she was still in Paris through tomorrow. As he walked slowly back into the foyer, he noticed, for the first time, Stefani's shoes under the entry bench.
She's here.
He flew up the stairs three at a time. And when he pushed open the door to their bedroom, the sight of her asleep in their bed stole the breath from his lungs. She lay on her side, her face illuminated by the glow from his bedside lamp. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup and totally relaxed. She was as beautiful as he could ever remember her. More.
The dogs lifted their heads from their beds in the corner, where they'd obviously camped out to guard their mama. Charlie thumped his tail, but Bradley raised his palm out toward them, and they settled back into their positions obediently.
The right thing to do was to let her sleep, but he didn't entertain the thought for more than a second. Instead, he eased himself down onto the bed, reaching over to place his hand on the cap of her shoulder. He rubbed gentle circles with his thumb until her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a sleepy, guilty smile.
