Summer laughed, slamming the trunk lid. “Yes, dear.” She forbore to pester him about the contact high or the present over dinner, instead making all the dirty innuendos she could find about sushi (turned out there were a LOT, if you watched the chef make it). They accomplished the drive back to the Tower in actual silence, though she kept glancing over at him with a soft smile.She’d actually forgotten about any present by the time they got back up to the penthouse, too occupied by simply cuddling with Tony. Often enough the simple pleasure of being together at all vanished under the stress of their lives, or their occupation each with the other’s body.
Tony spent the majority of dinner snickering like a teenage boy, as Summer got progressively worse as the meal went on. The drive to tower, however, was subdued, Tony half dozing, chin in hand and elbow perched on the car door.
When the car was parked and they climbed out, he wound up picking her up, hands curled around her waist, and then twirled her in a circle and kissed her before setting her back on her feet, grinning all the while.
It was once they were up in the penthouse that he seemed maybe a slight bit anxious, though he hid it well. He prodded her shoulder with two fingers. “Well, go on and get it.”
Still distracted by kissing and cuddling, Summer blinked. “Huh? Oh.” She looked over at the bar — they still need to do something about that, really; it was a horrible reminder of a lot of things — and found the silvery heap, about where he did, usually, leave his keys.
Cautiously, she picked it up. A key. A very shiney, ornate key, with a tag. ‘Key to the Tower,’ it said, in a curvy script. She blinked at it, puzzled for a long moment.
“Tony, is this — are you asking me to move in?”