I found something by accident.
A box.
Small. Square. Matte black.
Stuffed into the back of Jesse's sock drawer like it didn't mean something.
Of course, I opened it.
And there it was—
A key.
Not to the garage.
Not to the truck.
But engraved along the curve:
K. HAYES.
---
When Jesse walked in and saw me holding it, he froze.
"That's not how you were supposed to find it."
I smiled.
"So there was a plan?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish.
"I was gonna give it to you after we finished the back wall. Make a night of it. Light some candles. Not… you, half-naked and sweaty, digging through my socks."
I stepped forward.
Held the key between two fingers.
"This mine now?"
He nodded.
"It always was."
---
He pulled me in then.
Kissed me slow.
Deep.
Like this wasn't a scene, or a power exchange, or some erotic dream.
Like this was real.
Mine.
Ours.
Now.
---
Back home...
Later, we lay on the couch, my head on his chest, his thumb stroking the edge of my jaw.
And he said—
"I used to think love was the thing you bled for."
I looked up.
"And now?"
He smiled.
"Now I think it's the thing you build for."
---
The key hangs on a chain around my neck now.
Not hidden.
Not shameful.
Just resting against my collarbones like a new kind of promise.
And every time Jesse looks at it, I swear his eyes soften like he's still learning what it means to be wanted without punishment.
---
We didn't need rings.
We didn't need rules.
We just needed one key.
And two men willing to build a door around it.