Page 126 of Perfect Pairing
I chuckled and cupped her cheeks, bending to press a light kiss to her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”
“But you love me.”
“More than anything except Hansen,” I confirmed.
“As it should be.”
“We’ll build the house together,” I said. “We’ll find a contractor and start planning, just as long as you don’t mind my dad being involved?”
“I have forty acres,” she reminded me. “Even carving out some of it for the community garden, we’ll still have plenty of space. I was actually thinking he could build his own place on the property.”
“Like a little in-law suite of sorts?”
“Exactly.”
I sighed, hugging her tightly to my chest, wishing I could meld our bodies together so I could always feel her against me like this, could always have her heart beating in time with mine.
“I’m not sure what I—no, whatwedid to deserve you, but my god, are we lucky to have you.”
“Nah.” Lifting her head, she offered her mouth up to me. When I met her halfway, she murmured against my lips, “I’m the lucky one.”
FIVE WEEKS LATER
“Come on, honey! Hurryup, or we’re going to be late!”
“It’s not possible to be late to your own celebration,” she grumbled. “At my family’s winery, no less.”
At last, my girl appeared at the top of the stairs, and my mouth went dry.
Over the years, I’d seen Brie in numerous situations. Dressy casual for family dinners. Covered in flour and fruit sauces, hair a mess, apron covering her leggings and tee at the bakery. Naked and writhing beneath me.
But somehow, this was my favorite: in one of her cute little sundresses, a long sleeved top and leggings underneath to ward against the cold, and black combat boots. She was equal parts feminine and edgy, a walking contradiction, and I loved every single side of her she gave me.
The five weeks since the meeting about the community garden had come and gone in a flash of constant activity. The fact that it was slow season for tourists proved to be a blessing, because Brie and I could focus all of our efforts on our upcoming projects.
First, we’d sat down with Jay Daniels—who happened to be Logan’s father—about construction on our home and my dad’s guest cottage, which would really be a thousand square-foot home designed to his exact specifications. Our place would be over twice the size of that, with a large master and en suite that included a massive freestanding tub, Hansen’s room, which we were letting him decorate himself, and plenty of spare rooms to grow our family. True to form, the kitchen would be the focal point of the living space. Brie and I were taking our time choosing appliances and finishes, wanting it to be the space of our dreams where we could both create as well as teach Hansen and any future children the tools of our respective trades.
And now that the worst of the winter storms had passed and more temperate weather was on the horizon, Jay and his team would begin digging the foundation the first week of April—which was only a week away.
Next, once we’d decided on the best spot for the community garden, the entire Delatou clan, all their significant others, and I began planning the layout and how exactly we’d operate it. The point, for me, was to give back to this town while also using it as a place of learning. It would survive entirely on donations, and thanks to Brie’s family, including Logan, Cal, and Owen, we had enough to operate for probably a decade before we’d even begin to see the bottom of our coffers.
I supposed it paid to be connected to the rich and famous. Even Logan’s brother-in-law, Brent Jean, who was a star professional hockey player, had donated a significant sum, as had a few of his teammates and a few of Owen’s from his NFL days.
Everything was coming together better than I ever dreamed,and I was impatiently waiting for the last of the snow to melt and the ground to thaw so we could get to working the soil and readying it for plants.
Thankfully, the family had allowed us to use the garage at the Villa as a sort of makeshift greenhouse, and we’d been keeping some starters there in preparation. Did I think we’d have it all figured out in our first year? Of course not, but I knew we’d have fun figuring it all out. With Brie by my side, even the bad days were good.
With those two projects, we were arguably busier than we had time for, given Hansen’s school and activity schedule and Brie’s burgeoning online business. But somehow, we were gluttons, because we began work on the cookbook as well.
Those were honestly some of my favorite days, when Brie and I spent endless hours in the kitchen while Dad was working and Hansen was at school, honing recipes and playing around with old favorites. Learning from each other was fun too, and I was never mad about the times that ended with us naked and tangled with each other.
For the past few years, I’d spent my birthday wallowing.
This year, though, I had so fucking much to be thankful for, so much to celebrate, that I found myself getting a little misty-eyed as Brie and I drove down to the winery for my party.
“You seem nervous,” I said to Brie as I drove. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet, not talking my ear off about the cookbook or garden like she usually would.
“I’m not nervous,” she scoffed. “Just a lot on my mind.”
