Page 125 of This Time Around
“I lied,” Jack said, turning to face her with his back to a closed bedroom door. “Sorry about that.”
His grin told her he wasn’t the least bit sorry.
“So there’s no paint?”
“No paint. Not right now, anyway.” He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “But I wasn’t lying about renovating. I promise the new primary suite will be ready before the baby’s here.”
“I don’t mind, Jack. As long as we all have beds to sleep in, I’m not picky.”
“Never thought I’d hear Allie Ross say those words.”
“That’s Allie Ross Carpenter, thank you very much.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, and Jack pulled her close to deepen the kiss.
Well, close was a relative term.
“Ooof,” he said as the baby belly bumped him squarely in the crotch. “Cock blocked by my own spawn.”
Allie laughed. “Not the last time, I’m sure.”
“Come on.” Jack let go of her and reached for the door. He turned the knob to the room Allie hadn’t set foot in for months. When they’d first reopened the B&B for guests, they’d set aside this wing of the house for their own quarters. The plan had been to renovate eventually, but between the wedding and the pregnancy and the unexpected flood of guests, they hadn’t had time.
Or Allie hadn’t had time, anyway. It was clear Jack had been up to something. As they stepped into the room, she took in the magnitude of the something.
Brocade drapes—exact replicas of the ones her grandma had purchased so long ago—lined the windows. They were open now, letting slabs of yellow sunlight spill across a blue duvet the color of a robin’s egg. The carpet had been ripped out to reveal freshly refinished hardwood floors that gleamed like honey in a sunbeam.
Her gaze drifted to the far wall and Allie felt her heart stop. “Oh my God!” She stared at the fireplace. It was magnificent. Rustic brick lined the edges and the interior, and a rough-hewn wood beam gleamed above it. She stepped forward for a closer look and found herself skimming a palm over the mantle where their wedding photo rested.
“The brick is vintage,” he said. “I bought it from a guy who claims it came out of an old house on the same block as the Hemingway House in Key West. And the mantle—I made that myself. It’s from that old maple out back that came down in the windstorm a while back.”
“Jack, it’s beautiful.” Allie’s eyes filled with tears as she turned back to face him. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“You always said you wanted a fireplace in your bedroom.” He smiled and closed the distance between them, taking her hand again. “And this one burns gas or wood. So we can do it the old fashioned way, or just flip the switch.”
Somewhere downstairs, Allie heard the muted thud of footsteps, the slam of the front door, and Paige’s voice chatting excitedly with Allie’s mother. She heard her mother laugh, and Allie knew she’d hear her mom boast over dinner how utterly charming her granddaughter was.
Up here, the room smelled like cinnamon and fresh linens. The fireplace glowed warm and inviting beside them, and Allie stretched up to loop her hands behind Jack’s neck. “I love you so much.”
He grinned. “Because I light your fire?”
“Because you light my fire and battle my woodpeckers and feed my mutant cats.”
“And knock you up,” he said. “Don’t forget that part.”
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“I love you, too, Allie.”
His lips touched hers, and Allie felt the same spark she’d felt at seventeen years old. Jack slid his hands into the small of her back, angling her sideways so they fit together just right. Like two puzzle pieces that had always belonged together.
Like two birds come home to roost at last.
* * *
***
Can I confess something? I actually got teary-eyed reading this book 10 years after I wrote it, and I hope you enjoyed Allie and Jack’s story even half as much as I loved writing it.
Coming up next, get ready to learn about the top-secret project Kate Geary has had in the works. The savvy producer is about to land her dream project at the same time she meets her dream guy. Too bad there’s no way she can possibly have both.
