A/N: it's only been two years but I'm baaaaaaaaack! Let's give this story the end it deserves!
Scott sleeps in bed next to me. I tried to tell him I would sleep on the couch because I’m sick, and I know no one wants to sleep next to a sick person. He replied he would sleep next to me in any situation. I tried to think of a really gross situation to test him with, but the pounding in my head made that impossible.
The next morning I slowly open my eyes and find that Scott is already awake and on his phone. He doesn’t notice I’m up, so I slyly look at this phone screen just by shifting my eyes, as we’re both lying on our backs.
I see that he is scrolling through Zillow… the house and apartment website. He recently moved into his current apartment. Wonder what he’s looking for.
I suddenly speak, and it startles him. “Why are you on Zillow?”
He nearly drops his phone but manages to just click the screen off instead. “I was just browsing.”
“Are you looking for a new place?” I question, my nose so plugged I might sound like an elephant.
How do I know what an elephant would sound like if it could talk? Man, I'm really out of it.
“Kind of.”
“Why?” I ask. “You just moved into a nice big apartment.”
He seems uncomfortable. I hope he knows I’m not trying to be nosy. I probably shouldn’t have looked at his phone, but it was right in front of me. And I was doing it innocently.
There are a few beats of silence where I begin to get uncomfortable too. I sit up and look down at him. He moves his eyes slowly over to me then darts them back to the ceiling. Then he closes them. I’m even more confused by this chain of eye movements.
“Scott?” I prompt.
He opens his eyes, then he sits up. His muscles are outlined by the tight t-shirt he wore to bed. My broad-chested god of a man. “I told you I was making my start for us.”
I look at him even more puzzled. “What does that have to do with you looking at Zillow?”
He releases the death grip he has on his phone and brings his hands up to his face. After rubbing his face, his eyes, and shaking out his head a little, he responds. (And by the way, I’m just sitting there with my mouth open a little so I can breathe, but that’s probably making me look stupider.) “I wasn’t going to tell you yet because I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” He pauses. “But….” He looks shyly away, then back at me, then shyly away again. “I asked Lindsey on our way here if she would murder me if we moved back to Texas.”
My mouth drops down further. Not to breathe, because, trust me, I am no longer thinking about being sick.
He continues, “And her response was that she wouldn’t murder me.”
I don’t move. He went from his “start” being a box of food and a picture to moving? Talk about a leap.
Scott chuckles then shrugs. “She said she saw it coming.”
“To Austin?” I finally choke out. “Are you moving to Austin?”
He puts his hand up to stop me, but in a gentle way. “Nothing is for sure, Mitch. I hate to uproot Lindsey again. I messed her up once already.” He sighs, dwelling on it for a second. “She just started therapy, so changing everything she’s starting to know would be tough. But it doesn’t mean I’m not willing to do it. I just need to think more things through first.”
I just feel frozen. And not in a cold way. Actually, in a very, very sweaty way. I have SO many things to ask him. My mouth loosely moves up and down trying to make words out of air. Scott laughs, pats my knee, and gets up.
“I’m going to go see what you have for breakfast. Feel free to join me out there. Maybe Lindsey can interpret whatever is going on…” he waves his hand in front of my mouth, “there.”
He leaves, and my eyes follow him, my mouth still gaping. He wants to move here? Surely I misheard him.
-
The rest of the weekend I can only think of what Scott had said. Where did that come from? Why is he suddenly being a good person?
Okay, like, you know what I mean.
We have nice talks, we watch movies, we drive around Austin with me in the backseat dying and Scott and Lindsey basically silent. It’s awesome. But now I feel an immense pressure for him to like Austin. If he doesn’t, there’s no way he will keep considering moving here.
And still, I don’t want to take all that time away from Lindsey. She needs a full-time parent. But, this is Scott’s choice, whereas if I was to move there, it would be my doing and a more intentional break in their bond.
On Sunday I feel well enough to at least get them to the airport. It, of course, is heartbreaking. However, part of me is just like Leave! Go! Now! Get on all that stuff you have to do before you can move!
Yeah, so, my hopes are up.
-
It is so hard to not bug Scott about it, but I try really hard. Me pushing won’t make it a genuine move if it happens. But one day on Facetime, when I know Lindsey isn’t around, I ask him if there are any updates.
He’s leaning back on his couch, looking sleepy and so cute. He filled in for someone at his bakery so he actually had to work all day. Poor baby. (That was sarcastic, btw.)
“I mentioned the fact it could happen to Lindsey’s therapist to see if she thought that would be detrimental, and she thought it could go either way. She said Lindsey is strong but has a lot to work through, and that she would work with me to find a therapist that would best fit her needs down there.”
My heart becomes a well of sunshine. “Well that’s positive!”
He nods, thinking more, but I do not know exactly what.
“Scott,” I say to bring him out of his head and stop the nibbling I can see on the inside of his lip. “I know this is all in the beginning stages, but what about your bakery?”
“If I want to be with you, I have to make sacrifices.”
I cock my head to the side with sad eyebrows. I know what he’s implying, but I don’t like it. “What?”
“Well, I would sell the bakery, Mitch.”
I start shaking my head so fast my cheeks wobble. “No! You can’t! It’s so successful and…”
As if I didn’t see this happening. What else would he do with it, dummy?
“Scoquiche will be Sco-no-mo.” He laughs. How can he be so light-hearted about this?
I laugh, but it’s not full whatsoever. “Are you okay with that? You seem to be way too okay with that. Why are you so okay with that?” Those three similar sentences fall out of my mouth before I can filter them.
“Because it’s time. I’m ready.”
I do an exaggerated slow blink. “Ready? Ready for what?”
“It’s time to bring Scott’s Scones back.”
There’s that mischievous smile.