Fell In Love With My Roomy Chapter 127

Here I am, packing another suitcase for New York. Maybe I should have lied to get out of this, told him I would have preferred his parents to come here.

But he would have hated that more than the trip. Kent's parents being anywhere near Brown and his life here made him angry, and I could understand why. I have to suck this up. We're on good terms, things are great between us, and it's time to rip off the last band-aid in our relationship.

Besides, it can't be any more of a disaster than when we told Piper.

I have a simple carry-on suitcase and my backpack. It's only three days, including this one, so I don't need to pack a whole lot.

I zip everything shut and wheel my suitcase out to the main room, going to double-check that my Gravol is in a secure place in my backpack.

Mark is at the dining room table doing some work, and I sigh, putting on my sneakers.

"You two heading out?" He asks, and I nod quietly. "Can't believe he wants you to meet his parents. I've only met his mom once, and I've known him for almost four years."

I smile a bit with a simple shrug. "I've met them before."

"When?" He asks, and I sigh.

"November, when I went with him for Thanksgiving weekend," I answer, and his eyebrows raise.

"What are they like?"

"I, um..." I stall a bit, knowing Kent wouldn't want me to talk about it. "They're nice. What are you working on?"

"Just a group project," he shrugs, clearly so deep into what he's working on that he barely noticed the change of conversation.

I hear Kent hurry down the hall, wheels rolling on his suitcase. He appears beside the kitchen in a pair of sweatpants and a black hoodie. Even in such relaxed clothes, he looks amazing. He's rushed, checking his phone and placing his AirPods in the outside pocket of his bag.

"You ready?" He asks, and I nod.

"Good morning to you too," I answer, poking fun at his obvious stress for this flight. He hates to fly, hates being late or unorganized. Airports are not Kent's friend, not to mention the fact that we're going somewhere that brings up all kinds of traumatic memories for him.

He pauses a bit, slowing down in the moment, and he stops, shoulders sagging. He makes a few steps over to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Sorry, good morning," he mumbles, kissing my forehead, and Mark holds up his end of their agreement, pretending to gag.

"It's been almost two weeks, aren't you sick of that by now?" I ask, putting my arm around Kent's back, squeezing my cheek on his chest.

"Not as sick as I am of watching you two be nice to each other all the time," Mark mumbles, and I shrug.

"I'm ready when you are," I whisper, and Kent nods.

"I'll put the bags in the car," he answers, picking up our suitcases, and I smile.

"Hold down the fort for us?" I ask Mark, and he smirks a bit, sort of like a father who is learning to accept his daughter's boyfriend.

"Sure will, have fun," he nods, and I grin, walking over to give him a quick hug. "Yeah, yeah, go have a good time. See you Sunday night," he sighs, and I chuckle.

"Bye!" I call, closing the apartment door and hurrying up the steps.

Kent's closing the trunk, and I hop into the car. I hope this trip is low-key. The last two times were so full of stuff I almost passed out.

Kent's tense, of course he is. I feel anxious to bring him home to my family, who love me and each other unconditionally.

He's quiet most of the way through the check-in, he's silent until we get upstairs, and I sigh. I don't know what to do for him. I know he's doing this for me, and the fact that I've made him miserable doesn't sit well with me.

We get to the gate, and I pull out my laptop to do some reading while we wait. But I pull it out with a black screen, and I groan, pushing the power button.

"What's wrong?" He asks from beside me, and I roll my eyes.

"My old computer," I grumble. "I've had it since ninth grade, and this year it's started acting like a little pain." I watch it power up, and I sigh, running my hand through my hair.

"Get a new one," he shrugs, and I laugh.

"I don't have the money," I answer quietly, shaking my head. "It's fine. I only have one more year, and then I'll have some more cash next year, more credit and a loan to get a better computer."

"I'll get you one," he shrugs, and my jaw drops.

"No, that's... that's a little much."

"No way, you've got a birthday next week anyway," he tells me. "I'll bring you to Apple; you can pick it out yourself."

"Kent," I sigh, putting my hand on his. "The idea of you spending that much money on me makes me uncomfortable. I'm okay for now. If it goes beyond usable, you'll be the first to know."

"Okay," he concedes, pulling his phone out of his pocket. I sigh, closing my laptop, putting it away, and I reach over for his hand. He looks confused as to why I was making such an intentional gesture, but I knew this sort of thing was important when we were both so stressed out.

"I love you," I whisper, and he nods, sliding his phone away.

"I love you too," he answers easily, clasping my hand tightly and running his thumb over the back of it. "Did you bring your Gravol?"

"Yeah, I did," I smile. It was cute that he remembered stuff like that. "Why?"

"Because I think I'll want one on the plane," he admits, and I chuckle.

"I bought the wrong ones. I hope you're in the mood for a nap," I shrug, and he grins. "The whole airplane's going to get to hear you snore."

"I don't snore; you do," he defends, crossing his arms. I roll my eyes, and he sighs, reaching over the awkward arm between our chairs to wrap his arm around me.

"I'm trying not to... be too stressed out," he whispers. "I'm sorry if it's not coming out that way."

"It's okay," I whisper quietly. "I know why you feel the way you do."

Kent's parents had unintentionally messed up his life; his sister had some... secret, some thing that made him resent being home or thinking about his family. Not to mention the last two times we'd been there we had a nearly relationship-ending fight. There was a lot riding on this, and there was a lot going on in his mind.

The fact that he did this because I thought it was important meant the world to me.

The flight boarding is called, and the two of us stand with our bags, heading up to the desk.

"We've got this under control," I whisper, grabbing his hand as we walk through the tunnel down to the airplane. He snaps out of his thoughts and nods, leaning down to kiss my cheek.

"We do," he answers, looking relieved by my confidence. "We have all along."

Kent and I slept through the whole flight. I woke up when the plane hit the ground with my head under his, the two of us in a ball, thank goodness we'd left our seatbelts on.

Even through leaving the airport and getting into the black town car that was going to take us to the Hamptons, I barely remember it. I was still fighting off the Gravol, and so was he.

I woke up again when Kent nudged my shoulder a bit. I blink a bit, stirring out of my apparent several-hour nap, and he sighs, putting his hand on my knee.

"We're here," he whispers, and I nod, stretching out in the back seat.

He hops out and holds the door open for me while the driver unloads our bags.

This house is still just as unbelievable as it was before. Still unbelievable but even more beautiful in a light layer of snow.

The driver gets our bags out of the trunk, and he doesn't even turn around to look at them. He just puts his hand on my lower back, guiding me up to the door while someone else gathers our things and brings them into the house.

It was early afternoon; the flight and then the drive had taken close to four hours, but I felt incredibly awake after sleeping through most of it.

"My parents won't be here until tomorrow. My mom's in L.A, and my dad's in the city doing business. Just us and our five closest staff until then," he informs me, and I stumble a bit when he says 'staff' so casually.

"What on earth do we need that much help for?" I ask, and he bites back a smile.

"They're here all the time for the most part, they tidy and clean," he answers. "There's one more than when the house is empty for you, me, and my parents. They cook, help with whatever we need."

"Oh god," I groan, and he sighs.

"Cheer up."

"It's just weird," I mumble. "My family used to wake me up on Saturday mornings so we could all collectively clean our house together."

"I'll wake you up tomorrow if you want and have you clean something, if that'll make you feel more at home?" he suggests, and I elbow him, rolling my eyes. "Kidding."

"Can I cook late lunch?" I ask, and he raises his eyebrows. "Please, I don't have any food at home to make things, and I know your kitchen is stocked up."

"I'll have someone."

"No, I want to do it," I insist. "I'll starve out of protest."

"Curse you and your rock-solid backbone," he mumbles, and I grin, walking through the massive corridors and foyer to his kitchen.

I didn't get a good look at it the last time we were here. The kitchen wasn't really for guests, so I only glanced in while someone made our lunch.

It's stunning, all white countertops, bright light fixtures, neutral backsplashes, farmhouse sinks, and stainless steel. I love it.

"What?" he asks, and I smile.

"This is what I want in my house one day, just to have. I don't cook much, but it's beautiful," I insist, walking to the fridge just to see what was in there. It was full, like people were genuinely living here.

"It's just a kitchen," he shrugs, and I look back at him over my shoulder.

"You're such a guy," I protest, getting out some chicken from the meat drawer. "You think the one in our apartment is the same?"

"No," he shrugs, coming around the island to me. "I like it when you say 'our apartment' like that," he whispers, touching my waist, and I roll my eyes.

"I'll make fajitas, how does that sound?" I ask quietly, aware that he was leaning in closer behind me.

"Sounds like something that could wait twenty minutes," he whispers, tucking my hair to the side and kissing the space behind my ear. Shivers run right down my back, and I gulp.

"It would take us twenty minutes just to walk to your room in this house," I protest, putting my hands over his. "I'm hungry."

"Me too," he shrugs, and I laugh.

"Not like that!" I insist, pushing his hands back, and he chuckles. "Why do you always want to take me to bed?"