“You want to move in with me?” he asked. My mouth fell open. “Did Sloane just text you?” He turned his phone toward me: Ask your rock star girlfriend to move in with you already. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You know Sloane.” “You want to move in with me?” he repeated. I studied his face, trying to read his expression. “Are you asking me or asking me?” After a year, Oliver knew me well, because that question didn’t confuse him. “I didn’t need this text from Sloane. I was going to ask you as soon as we got home.” “Really?” “Really,” he said. “Yes.” “Yes?”
