Page 107 of Gray Area

“Declan, we agreed—”

“Vivian, somethings I handle can’t wait. I’m sorry. But if you are concerned, you’re welcome to come if you need to babysit me,” Declan informs me.

“Babysit you?” I can feel the anger rising in me like flames—a reaction only Declan can elicit in me. The way this man can rock my emotions from sexually hot to hell flames angry is unreal. “Yeah, I think babysitting is exactly what you need.”

Declan gives me his trademark flat stare. “Okay, you can come along if you want to watch me.”

Twenty minutes later, we leave the city and drive to a heavily wooded area in the middle of nowhere. There’s been silence between us ever since we left. I’ve come to make sure Declan doesn’t do anything stupid, but I refuse to make conversation with him. I’m super pissed at him for working so much and not taking care of himself, so I give him the cold shoulder for the entire ride. I know I’m being petty and childish, but I’ll worry about that later, when he’s home and resting.

I’m staring out the window at the forest of trees around us when the car turns down a gravel laneway. We move down it slowly, passing a large brick building, and keep going. I glance over at Declan, hoping for a clue, but he’s preoccupied with something on his phone.

I refocus my attention back out the window as the car turns from the laneway onto a long driveway. The trees are thick oneither side of the path, but then they suddenly open up to reveal an huge old house with a large wraparound porch. We pull to a stop in front of it, but before I can ask Declan what’s going on, he’s out of the car. He moves faster than I expect him to, so I guess his PT is going pretty well.

I go to open my door, but as always, Declan is there to open it for me, offering his hand. I take it and glance at him, but his eyes are focused on the house as we walk up to it.

When we reach the front steps, I start to feel anxious. “Declan?”

“You’ll see,” he says, as if already knowing my question.

Declan opens the door, and I follow him inside. Before me is a beautiful foyer with freshly sanded pine wood floors and tons of windows letting in natural light. I take in the space, noting the wooden stairs that look like they’re mid-refurbish.

“Declan, what is this?” I ask, finally looking at him. When I do, I find him watching me instead of the house. He’s silent, studying me, and something about his expression feels off. Then a thought hits me when I recognize what I see in his face. “Declan, are you nervous?” I ask.

DECLAN

No one ever makes me nervous. Ever.

Except for Vivian.

Despite all our years apart, no one could ever read me like she does. And, of course, she’s right—I’m extremely nervous.

I took a shot that she would demand to come once I told her I was going out to work. Was it the best idea to anger her just before getting in a car with her for over twenty minutes? Nope, but I was pretty sure it would work for my plan, and it had paid off.

I want to give Vivian the world. I want it all to be perfect for her. Making her happy has been the only thing that got me through our time apart. Nothing brings me as much joy as seeing her happy, and I really hope this surprise will do that. I want her to love it as much as I believe she will.

So yes, I’m beyond nervous that she’ll hate this surprise I have for her—that I’ll fail her and make her unhappy.

I push through the nerves and finally tell her what is going on, “I bought this for you,” I tell her.

Vivian stares at me in complete silence. It feels like years pass, and we end up in a tense, awkward standoff in the beautiful entryway, just staring at each other.

Finally, Vivian says something. “Huh?”

My heart thunders in my chest at her response because—what the hell does that mean? “I said I bought this for you,” I repeat, gesturing around us. “Well, for us. As a home.”

Since reuniting, I’ve subtly lavished Vivian with gifts, careful not to overwhelm her. I know material things have never mattered to her, so I keep my gifts frequent but simple. And when I overstep—like having her entire apartment packed and moved while she’s at work—it hasn’t gone well. I’m not sure how she’ll take this gift, which she might see as extravagant.

When she still doesn’t respond, I do what any man would do: I keep talking.

“See, this property used to be a farm, and this was the main house. I’ve had some work done to shore up the structure and added more space to the back, but other than that, it’s a blank slate. And that brick building we passed? I thought we could make that into an office. For you. I thought you might like to start an organization like the one you worked at in DC—your own thing.

“And beyond the house, if you go down the laneway, there’s a lake with brooks, trails, and an old camp. I was thinking wecould use it as a camp for underprivileged kids, if you wanted. And there’s more space, so maybe we could build a section for people who need emergency services and—oof.”

I don’t get to finish because Vivian crashes into me, squeezing my chest. It hurts, but I don’t say anything. I take it as a very good sign—and I’m too happy to care about the pain.

“Do you like it?” I ask, trying to keep the discomfort out of my voice.

“Oh my God, Declan, you’re amazing!” she shrieks. “I can’t believe you did all this for me—all while you’re supposed to be taking care of yourself. Oh my God, your chest! I must be killing you,” she says, immediately pulling away.

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