Page 121 of I'll Keep Her Safe

“Okay then.” She smiles. “Let’s head home.”

Nerves jump through me at her words. I know Poppy loved our old house, but I also know she loves this place, and I can only hope she’s happy with what I’ve done. With what I’maboutto do.

“We are home,” I whisper, sliding my hands into her hair and pressing a kiss to her mouth.

She gazes up at me questioningly. I give her a secret little smile, slipping my hand into hers. Then I turn for the stairs, leading us to the first floor. Poppy trails after me, bewildered, until we step into the living room, set up with my sofa, coffee table, TV, and bookcase. It still looks a little bare, given how much larger it is than our place across the street, but we’ll fill it together over time.

Poppy’s jaw opens. “What did you…”

“This is our new living room,” I tell her, motioning about the space. “We might need some more furniture, though.”

She casts her eyes around the room, taking in the tall ceilings, the crown molding that I had Kyle and Violet’s crew painstakingly restore, the dark stained floors.

“Wyatt…” she breathes in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

I lead her through to the next room. “And this is our kitchen.” This and the bathrooms are the only spaces I had Kyle and Violet’s crew completely redo because of how outdated they were, and it was worth every penny. It’s much smaller than the commercial kitchen below, obviously, but the marble countertops and farmhouse sink gleam under the overhead lights, a great contrast to the dark cabinets I had installed.

Poppy rushes to the bright red Smeg fridge, stroking her hands appreciatively across its vintage-inspired curves. “Oh my God, I’ve always wanted one of these!”

Her delight stirs a warm laugh in my chest. It’s exactly how I was hoping she’d react. I chose the design because I love how distinctive it is, and I chose the color because it reminds me of her. It will bring out the pretty poppies on her apron when she’s in here.

“And the stove…” She practically faints when she sees the six-burner stove, but it doesn’t last long because she’s then captivated by the sink, the marble island with our stools tucked underneath, the pot rack hanging in the center of the kitchen. She spins back to me with wide eyes. “I havetwokitchens.”

I smile. “Of course, baby. One is for work. The other”—I gesture around us—“is for us.”

Shakes her head in disbelief. “Wyatt, I thought you’d created my dream kitchen downstairs, but this is…”

I chuckle at her loss of words, my heart full. Sliding my hand back into hers, I motion to the space between the kitchen and living room. “This would be the perfect spot for a dining table, don’t you think?” That’s one thing I didn’t want to choose without her, knowing it’s where she’d serve her delicious meals, where we’d eat dinner as a family with our children.

If I get to be that lucky.

“Yes,” she whispers, eyes shining. “I don’t know what to say…”

“Shh.” I put a finger to her mouth, then replace it with my lips. “Don’t say anything. There’s more.”

I lead her up the stairs to the next level, the level with our bedroom, and the room I’m most nervous to show her—the nursery. To calm my nerves, I start with our room. I’ve taken my bed and nightstands, but added her rug to the floor, her throw pillows and weighted blanket to the bed. The poppy print takes center place on the wall, and as we enter the room, Poppy gasps, taking in the scene. Our bed sits below two large windows which overlook the backyard, but the real feature is the old fireplace with a white marble mantel that Kyle and Violet’s crew restored. It’s now in good working order, and come winter, I plan to make love to Poppy right on the floor in front of a roaring fire.

“This is beautiful,” she says, turning to me. “I can’t believe this is our bedroom.”

I squeeze her, my stomach tumbling. Nothing left to do now except show her the nursery.

My hands are suddenly clammy as I lead her along the hall to the room I’ve set up for us to fill with kids, the one I haven’t painted yet because I want her to have a say in how it’s decorated. But I have placed a crib and a change table in there, added a mobile above the crib, hoping it might inspire her, might show her I meant everything I said that day on Jones Beach.

As we enter the room and Poppy stops short, wide-eyed, my heart launches into my throat. What was I thinking, setting up a nursery before we’re even married? Panic swamps me as Poppy moves silently to the crib and runs her hand along the wood. This was a terrible idea.

“Uh—” I cross the room quickly, scrambling for an explanation. “This was just—”

“Wyatt.” She turns to me, her eyes glassy with emotion. “Is this a nursery?”

I scan her face, trying to read how she feels. Fuck, I can’t tell. All I can do is be honest.

I exhale heavily. “Yes. I thought maybe I could show you how I imagined the room for when the time comes. I know it’s a lot to take in, and—”

“It’s wonderful.” A tear snakes down her cheek and I wipe it away before she can. “I love it.”

I examine her carefully from under low brows. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She dabs at the corner of her eye. “It’s… it’s exactly how I imagined it.”

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