Page 66 of Fetch Me A Mate
"Same thing, sometimes."
Diana laughed, surprising herself. "Is that your professional opinion, contractor?"
"It's my personal opinion, mate."
The word hung between them, loaded with meaning she was only beginning to understand. "Is that what this is?" she asked quietly. "What we are?"
"If you want it to be."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll sleep in the basement and try not to love you so much it keeps me awake nights."
The confession hit her like a physical force. "Rowan."
"Too much?"
"Not enough." She pulled him down for a kiss, soft and sure and full of promise. "Paint the room whatever colors you want. Build whatever kitchen makes you happy. Just don't build it without me."
When they broke apart, both breathing unsteadily, Rowan rested his forehead against hers.
"You sure about this? About us?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
"Good. Because I'm planning on staying for a very long time."
"How long?"
"Forever, if you'll have me."
Diana smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. "I'll have you, Rowan Baneville. All of you."
They spent the rest of the morning painting sample squares on different walls, their conversation ranging from practical details to shared dreams. Diana learned that Rowan preferred oak to pine, that he'd always wanted a workshop space where he could build furniture in his spare time, that he thought about the future now instead of just surviving each day.
"What about you?" he asked as they cleaned brushes in the makeshift sink. "What do you want this place to become?"
Diana looked around the space that would be theirs, seeing it complete in her mind's eye. Morning light streaming throughclean windows, books scattered on comfortable chairs, the scent of coffee and contentment.
"Home," she said simply. "I want it to become home."
"Then that's what we'll build."
As they packed up the paint supplies, Diana realized that preferencing safety had never felt so brave. For the first time in her life, she was choosing something uncertain, something that required faith rather than guarantees.
She was choosing love.
32
ROWAN
Rowan was reinforcing the attic floor joists when the scent his wolf surged to the surface, hackles raised, territorial instincts blazing. He set down his hammer with deliberate calm and listened. Footsteps on the inn's front porch, confident and measured. A knock that wasn't really asking permission.
"Diana," he called down the stairwell. "I'll get it."
"I'm closer?—"
"I'll get it." His voice carried enough authority to stop her protests.
