“Yeah, Ash, just let me know if there are any updates,” I say into the phone, one hand holding it to my ear while the other searches through the cabinets for a coffee mug.

Well. There are mugs, but they’re all…girly.

One has a tulip as the handle. Another has hearts printed all over it.

It’s like Valentine’s Day threw up in here.

Not just the kitchen, but the whole flat.

We’ve been dating for just under a year, and I always knew you were the exact opposite of me. It’s obvious in the way you dress, what you get excited about, your career, your ragdoll cat who you treat like she’s royalty. Just the way you carry yourself entirely.

But nothing could’ve prepared me for your home.

In an annoyingly long story short, someone ratted me out to the damn law, and also was generous enough to provide them with the addresses of every single safe house I own in the entirety of Europe as a whole. So I had to make the decision to live with you for a few months just to lay low until things die down. My guys are pretty much taking care of everything physically while I make orders over the phone.

It’s complicated. It’s chaotic. It’s irritating.

Now, I never realized that I had yet to actually step foot in your flat. I’d picked you up a lot, sure, but had never actually see the inside. I kind of assumed it was gonna be decorated to the max but…

Christ.

Everything is pink and white and whimsical and- and cute.

The couch has lace bordered pillows. The side tables have lamps that are meant to look like flowers. The overhead lights are never on, instead being replaced by these little garland lights you have strung everywhere.

Do not even get me started on all the pink kitchen tools.

But, and I hate to say this, I think I’m getting used to it.

Okay, well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

I just enjoy being in the presence of you. When you’re around, I really don’t give two shits if dessert is made in a pink kitchen-aid mixer or if you have to watch one episode of your favorite show every night before bed.

The only thing that still kind of grinds my gears is how your damn cat insists on laying right in between us after we get in bed.

Do you know how many times I’ve almost fallen off the damn edge because of that damn fur ball?

It’s a little ridiculous.

“Yeah, yeah, call me later,” I huff into the phone. “Oh, and have that idiot Dylan give me a call. He messed up one of the shipments again. He’s lucky I can’t leave here and find him myself.”