Page 142 of Book and Ladder
We lock eyes, neither of us moving. I can’t contain my grin—we’re in another standoff, the same dance with a different rhythm.
I step forward. Daisy glances down. Then her door pops open and she steps out, waving shyly.
So much for practiced speeches with all the right words. One look at her and my composure’s shot to pieces.
Chapter 38
Daisy
And what do all the great words
come to in the end, but that?
I love you — I am at rest with you
— I have come home.
~ Dorothy L. Sayers
I glanceat the house behind Patrick. This neighborhood is familiar—one I’ve driven through over the years. The house next door has well-loved touches—pumpkins and hay bales tastefully stacked near the steps. Two stone planters of mums flank the porch steps. A former house turned dental office sits beside it. Across the street, an accounting firm occupies the bottom half of another old craftsman.
Patrick’s gaze meets mine. Relief floods his face the instant our eyes meet. He steps forward, then falters—like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind and drive away.
I wouldn’t dare. Not until he explains the podcast reveal and tells me why that porch is overflowing with packages and papers.
What on earth is he up to?
“You came,” Patrick’s voice breaks the silence as he moves toward me.
His movements are uncharacteristically cautious—almost reverent—so different from the way he charged at me that day on the lawn of Moss and Maple—the day he kissed me.
“I came,” I say, holding my arms out wide and letting them fall to my sides.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
“You’re really the host ofBurning Through the Pages.”
I can’t take my eyes off of him. Despite the hours I spent reconciling the two men, seeing him in person feels surreal.
He nods slowly. “And you’re M&M.”
I nod. Ten feet stretch between us—a moat of nerves and unspoken conversations.
“What is all of this?” I ask, waving my hand toward the porch.
He glances over his shoulder, exhales and closes the gap between us.
I meet him halfway, looking up into his eyes. He’s the man who listened to me pour my heart out in the late night hours, the one who always had my back.
The high school boy who left me stranded that day grew up to be this man standing before me.
His gaze drifts over my face, landing on my eyes, soft, searching, and filled with a warmth I’ve never seen in him before.
He turns so he’s facing the house with me. His palm finds the small of my back and rests there. It should feel awkward. Instead, his touch steadies me—hesteadies me.
I glance up at him, confirming the truth I’ve resisted for years.It’s him. He’s the one.
“This …” He gestures to the house. “... is the new home to Moss and Maple.”
