Page 113 of ILY
“It can,” I tell him.
He breaks away from my touch and takes several steps inside. “Perfect,” he calls out loudly. “I have our first two weeks planned.”
I tackle him before he can make it to the couch, and he lets me. We hit cushions on the floor, and his body wraps around mine. His kisses taste like coffee and honey. And the way he holds me, it fucking feels like forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LEAF
The house is not asbad as I assumed it would be when we return from Thorne’s vacation, but it will need work. There are gaping holes in all the floors, the door to the attic is gone, and the wall where the cellar door was has been removed entirely. They at least had the courtesy to patch it up with plywood, but the whole place smells like mold and dirt.
The grounds are much the same. There are freshly dug holes all over, and the concrete stamp has been broken into huge chunks, sitting in a pile. I can’t help but think all those empty spaces are graves, but I shove that thought out of my head as soon as it pops up.
That’s not how I want to look at this place. My aunt is gone, and so are the bodies, and this land has promise. Not just to be mine, but to be ours. Mine and Thorne’s.
Thankfully, Thorne thought to rent a dumpster and hired a few men to get rid of all the shit that my aunt had stored around the place. He made sure they went through everything so nothing of mine was lost.
Now, I only have a few of Rain’s childhood things, if he even wants them. Everything else can go. My aunt was a serial killer. I want nothing of hers to stay.
When I get done doing another sweep of the dining room, Thorne is on the deck, putting together two chairs he bought for us to use. They’re sturdy and can hold a combined weight of the two of us together, just in case I want to crawl into his lap and frot.
“I think the first thing I want to do when I have the money, you know, after fixing the floor and the walls, is paint the outside of the house.”
“What color?” Thorne asks, glancing up at me with a tiny grin. He seems to love all this repair shit, and it’s weirdly hot. His screwdriver hangs between his fingers, and I imagine, just for a moment, that it’s my dick he’s holding onto before quickly tossing it away.
I glance around us, trying to picture it in my head. “Maybe white with black shutters and a blue door.”
His smile widens. “I like it. We can do that.”
We.Wecan do that.
It’s still such a novel concept after being single for so damn long. I sigh and scrub a hand over my face. “The apple harvest went better than expected, but that’s only going to pay the bills for the next few months.”
“We’ll figure it out. I have some money put aside?—”
“No, absolutely not.”
He rolls his eyes and gets back to putting the chair together. I’ve told him no a few times because, well, I don’t want him paying for anything my aunt caused. If he wants to help renovate in the future, that’s fine, but he’s not putting any of his money into Aunt Lynda’s mess. I refuse.
My gaze turns out to the garden, and I see that my zucchini is all gone. Michael has been just as bad as before, if not worse. It’s like he thinks he owns the place. But instead of trying to kill him, I’ve just accepted it. It’s his garden now.
I even tossed those plants that were supposed to end in his demise.
I did suggest we sell them on the black market, but Thorne didn’t look amused. He growled “no” right up against my lips, then bit me on the jaw.
Sometimes it’s so worth it to say shit that annoys him.
As if on cue, I see Michael’s little head poke up from the ground, something in his mouth. Another vegetable? No, there’s nothing left for him to ravage, and whatever it is seems small and flat.
Leaves? Oh god, has he eaten everything to the point he’s starving and chewing foliage? Do I need to plant more food for him?
I crane my neck forward, squinting to get a better look.
“What the fuck does he have in his mouth?” I murmur to myself. “That’s definitely not from the garden.”
My stomach roils and drops, and Thorne must notice the stress emanating from my body because he hops up.
“What is it?”
