I hit send.
Stare at my screen.
“—and then she tells me I’m being distant.” Luca’s voice cuts in to my thoughts. “Like that’s even a thing. Me, distant? I cried duringCrazy Rich Asians, Skaggs.”
I blink. “What?”
Oh my god, why is he still talking?
“But she was just messing around. Things are actually really good. Great, actually. We’re synced up on everything—groceries, chores. I unload the dishwasher, she folds laundry. We’ve had sex on every surface in her apartment.”
Awesome.
“We’ve been talking about kids a lot lately, now that she has a niece and a nephew, her ovaries are like—exploding. Her words, not mine.” He goes quiet a few moments. “And obviously raising kids in an apartment is not ideal. I mean, Nova likes my house but it’s not her house—it’s mine. So…”
He trails off for dramatic effect. I already don’t like where this is going.
“I might sell the house.”
I stare at him. “Your house?”
That I live in.
That I’ve lived in for the past five years.
Luca shrugs, like he just announced he’s switching toothpaste brands. No big deal. “Yeah. We’ve been looking at listings. Nova is obsessed with finding something in a gated community. With a home gym. I realize we could remodel or whatever, but she’s really into that clean girl aesthetic now and it makes more sense to buy a new build.”
He laughs.
Meanwhile, I’m doing the mental math on how long it takes to pack up half a decade of stuff but also wondering: does any of my furniture actually belong to me?
“You’re sellingthe house,” I say again, to hear the sentence out loud.
He nods, totally unfazed. “Unless you want to buy it?”
Buy his McMansion in the suburbs?
A subdivision I wouldn’t choose, but live there for convenience, because it was with buddies?
I blink. “I’m a professional hockey player, not a goddamn hedge fund.”
He laughs again. “Give me a break, you have the money.”
Not the point.
“Nova just wants something that feels more like a home, you know?” Luca says, like this is a casual conversation and not a wrecking ball to my week. “Her apartment’s too cold. Too much marble and tile and not enough warmth.”
“She doesn’t want to raise kids eighteen stories up where they can’t even see a tree unless it’s through a window. Says it’d be like raising babies in a museum.”
I force a nod. My jaw is so tight it’s giving me a headache.
“She wants dirt and grass and backyard birthday parties,” Luca continues, dreamy as hell. “I get where she’s coming from.”
“You have a yard with dirt and trees and grass.” Not to mention a huge pool and patio, and outdoor kitchen.
“Yeah, but it’smine. Not ours.”
That word hits me like a slap.Ours.
