Chapter 72

The next morning, the sun streamed into the penthouse like it was excited for them. Emma woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Abigail singing off-key to a playlist that alternated between Broadway hits and early 2000s pop. Their sleeping bags were a mess on the floor, but it didn’t matter. It was moving day, part two: the official start of their new beginning.

Emma padded into the kitchen area, where Abigail stood in a hoodie and boxers, holding two mugs and dancing like no one was watching—even though Emma very much was.

“Good morning, dream girl,” Abigail said, spinning with an overly dramatic bow as she handed Emma a mug. “Ready to furnish the palace?”

Emma took a long sip and grinned. “Ready as I’ll ever be. But you know we can’t get everything in one day, right?”

Abigail wiggled her eyebrows. “Challenge accepted.”

First stop: IKEA.

It was both magical and overwhelming. The showroom was a maze of miniature homes, each one perfectly curated to convince them that their lives would improve dramatically if they bought a matching set of minimalist chairs and a bedframe with built-in storage.

Emma was practically glowing as they walked through the displays. Her eyes sparkled at every new setup, her fingers tracing tabletops and fluffy pillows with the same kind of reverence people had in art museums.

“Oh my god, look at this crib!” she gasped, rushing over to a sleek, white piece with a gently curved design. “And the little matching dresser. Abigail, it has gold drawer knobs.”

“I see it,” Abigail said, smiling warmly, already pulling out her phone to snap a photo. “You want it?”

Emma looked at her like she was silly for even asking. “Obviously.”

They added it to the order list with a quick scan from Abigail’s phone.

Next, they found themselves in the sofa section. Emma fell in love with a deep emerald green sectional almost instantly. She sank into the cushions with a dramatic sigh. “This is the one. I feel like royalty.”

Abigail sat beside her, nodding. “It’s bold. Luxe. Unapologetically you.” She grinned. “We’re getting it.”

“Wait, don’t you want to try others first?”

“Nope,” Abigail said, already keying in the product number for delivery. “If it makes you that happy, that fast, it’s the one.”

They wandered from room to room, collecting ideas and snapping photos. Emma gushed over a mid-century style coffee table with rounded edges. “This’ll be perfect for when the baby starts crawling. No sharp corners.”

“Practical and chic. Add it to the cart,” Abigail said, pulling out her phone again.

For the dining area, they selected a round table with a smooth oak finish and chairs with warm mustard velvet cushions. “These feel like a hug,” Emma said, bouncing on one. Abigail agreed—and ordered the entire set without blinking.

The nursery section made Emma a little teary. She paused in front of a soft gray rocking chair with wooden legs. “This is the one,” she whispered. “I can see myself sitting here with her in the middle of the night, reading her stories.”

Abigail reached over and wrapped her arms around Emma’s waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. “Then let’s make it happen.”

They chose a mobile of stars and clouds, a white bookshelf shaped like a little house, and a soft area rug dotted with constellations.

They paused for lunch at the IKEA cafeteria—Swedish meatballs for Abigail, a veggie wrap for Emma, and two oversized slices of chocolate cake.

“We’re doing so good,” Emma said, fork halfway to her mouth. “I feel like we just furnished half the apartment.”

“We did,” Abigail beamed. “And we’re not done yet.”

Next stop: a high-end boutique furniture store Abigail had been obsessing over since their move was confirmed. It was the kind of place where everything looked curated from a dream—soft pastels, natural wood, textured fabrics, and vintage lighting.

Emma squealed the moment they walked in. “Okay, I take back what I said earlier. We need everything.”

She floated from piece to piece, falling in love with a dusty rose chaise lounge for their bedroom, a marble-topped vanity, and a plush cream-colored reading chair for the library.

“This one,” she said, practically bouncing. “This one’s mine.”

Abigail grinned, watching her. “Whatever you want, Em. Today’s your day.”

“Are you sure we can afford all this?” Emma asked, suddenly pausing mid-swoon.

Abigail leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Babe, I’ve got us covered. We’re investing in our home. Our future. And I may or may not have money to last us a few lifetimes, remember?”

Emma flushed with love and excitement. “Then I want matching side tables and a ridiculous floor lamp shaped like a moon.”

“Ordered.”

As the sun started to set, they returned to the penthouse, arms full of boutique bags, hearts full of joy, and receipts that didn’t matter nearly as much as the memories they had made.

Deliveries had already been scheduled, and the first truck was set to arrive the next morning. The penthouse would soon be filled with everything they’d picked out together—pieces that spoke to who they were and who they were becoming.

They kicked off their shoes, collapsing on the floor again, too tired to cook but too happy to care. Takeout was already on the way, and their fingers were still interlaced as they scrolled through the photos from their shopping adventure.

Emma turned her head and looked at Abigail. “You’ve made everything feel so easy.”

Abigail smiled. “That’s because you make everything feel like home.”

They fell asleep that night wrapped in each other, dreaming of the rooms they’d build, the walls they’d decorate, and the little girl who’d grow up in a space created with love in every square foot.

Tomorrow, their home would begin to take shape. And they couldn’t wait.

____________________________________________

The morning sun peeked through the expansive windows of the penthouse, casting a golden glow over the hardwood floors. Emma was already awake, her hair twisted up in a messy bun, clipboard in one hand, a cup of strong tea in the other. She wore soft leggings and an oversized tee, her energy buzzing with anticipation.

Today was delivery day.

The buzz of the building’s freight elevator pulled her attention. She stepped to the door, cracked it open, and smiled at the team of movers hauling boxes and furniture wrapped in protective blankets.

“Good morning!” she greeted cheerfully. “Okay, I’ve got a plan—and a floor map. Please don’t be afraid of the labels, I went a little overboard.”

The lead mover chuckled. “No worries, ma’am. We love it when someone knows what they want.”

Emma stepped aside as the first pieces rolled in.

“Okay, the emerald green sectional goes in the main living area, right up against the wall with the outlets,” Emma instructed, walking with quick steps to show them exactly where. “Perfect. Then the round coffee table goes just in front—yes, centered with the rug we’ll unroll after the couch is set.”

Abigail appeared from the hallway, still yawning, cradling her own mug of coffee. “You’re terrifyingly efficient when you’re in command mode.”

Emma grinned. “This is my Olympics.”

Boxes followed in waves—clearly labeled with neat writing: Nursery – Soft Items, Library – Chair + Pillows, Dining – Fragile. Emma directed them like a conductor.

“The bookshelf shaped like a house goes in the nursery. Against the far wall, under the window, please. The rocking chair next to it—leave space for the floor lamp to the left.”

“The dining table goes by the windows in the open space between the kitchen and living room. Chairs are marked in those three boxes. Oh! That one with the cloud pillow? That goes in the library.”

The movers worked quickly and efficiently, moving through her notes and sketches like a checklist. Emma walked alongside them, pointing, adjusting, occasionally pausing to open a box and confirm the contents.

Abigail trailed her with quiet amusement, occasionally slipping in to offer snacks or check off items from their master list. When the emerald sectional was finally unwrapped and assembled, Emma stepped back, hands on her hips, beaming.

“It looks even better than I imagined.”

The reading chair, her beloved cream-colored nest, was positioned in a sun-drenched corner of the library space. Emma immediately dropped into it with a pleased hum.

“Claimed,” she said.

“I didn’t even try to fight you on that one,” Abigail replied, smiling as she adjusted one of the new floor lamps nearby. “The chaise lounge for the bedroom is next.”

Emma jumped up, grabbing her clipboard again. “Okay, master suite time. Let’s roll.”

They moved from room to room, directing the flow of furniture and decor. The nursery slowly took shape as a soft, dreamlike haven—crib, rug, canopy, mobile. Abigail stood in the doorway for a long moment, silent.

Emma walked over and slid her arm around her waist. “It’s happening.”

Abigail leaned her head against Emma’s. “She or he is going to love it.”

By late afternoon, the penthouse was transformed. The furniture was in place, boxes mostly emptied, piles of bubble wrap stacked neatly near the door. The kitchen was still chaos, but the rest of the apartment glowed with the warmth of new beginnings.

Emma and Abigail flopped onto the couch, limbs stretched and sore, but faces glowing.

“You coordinated that like a pro,” Abigail murmured.

“I might have missed my calling,” Emma replied.

“You found it,” Abigail said softly, resting a hand on Emma’s belly. “Right here.”