Page 28 of Yours, Now and Always
“Can we go in?’ Luna bursts from the backseat, practically vibrating in her booster. “I need to see my bedroom! I hope you remembered all the things I told you, Dad.”
“I want to see mine too,” Sarah adds, already halfway out of her seatbelt. “I bet it looks like a princess room.”
I laugh at their excitement, loving it. Loving them being here with us.
But as they spill out of the car, I get caught in one last moment with my husband. Because when I look at him before following the girls, I’m slowed all the way down.
Gage is watching me like I’m the only thing that matters. Like the estate, the weekend, the girls’ happiness—that’s all good. ButI’m it.
His mouth is soft at the corners. His eyes warm and impossibly steady. And for one breath, I let myself hold still too. Just to catch the weight of his love.
Then I open the door. “You girls have already seen your bedrooms.”
“Only once!” Luna says, scandalized. “And everything was dusty and weird. And there were ladders everywhere!”
“And Gage wouldn’t let us go in all the rooms,” Sarah says, tossing him a look as he rounds the car. “You said it was dangerous.”
“Itwasdangerous,” he says, joining us at the stairs. His voice is dry, but I don’t miss the way his mouth twitches, holding back his smile. “Your mother proved that when she stood on a paint can to inspect something on the wall.”
“It wasfine,” I say.
His brows arch as our eyes meet. “You fell into a box of light fixtures.”
I refrain from giving him an eye roll. The man lives for them. He also lives for his overprotective ways being proven right. “Did I break any bones? I think not. All was good.”
Gage gives me the look that’s one part exasperation, two parts heat, and one devastating hit of love.
The look that says he’d argue with me forever just to watch me hold my ground.
That he’d kiss me senseless just to shut me up.
And that he’d absolutely love to pin me to the nearest flat surface and make damn sure I never stand on anything unstable again.
Instead, he reaches for his keys. The girls bounce in place as he unlocks the front door. When he pushes it open, they barrel past us in a blur of boots and laughter, voices echoing up the staircase.
“I’m going to my room first!”
“Me too!”
“We need to see the playroom!”
“Yes! And the puzzles Mom said they got us!”
Their footsteps disappear up the stairs like the opening notes of a song I didn’t know I’d been waiting to hear.
Gage steps back, holding the door open for me, and then we’re walking inside.
The foyer is wide and welcoming, its original stone floors worn smooth by time and footsteps. A thick old rug sprawls across the entryway, deep rust and blackberry and faded rose woven into the kind of pattern that whispers of decades. We asked the previous owners if we could keep it because we loved it so much. Loved the history it carried.
Above us, the ceiling stretches high, beams exposed—weathered wood stained dark, almost black in some places—while soft autumn light spills through a tall arched window above the door.
Plants take up half the space here, some intentional, some maybe a little bit out of hand. There are leafy ones, tall ones, trailing vines that brush the floor. They’re tucked along the wall,clustered in corners, crowding the sunlight. Part of the family now.
Gage says it’s getting excessive.
I told him last week that it’s not hoarding if they all have names.
He just gave me a look, muttered, “Jesus Christ,” and carried in another one anyway.
