“They’ve bought it off you?” she questions.
“No, I’ve gifted it. This is our home. They are my brothers. I’d like our children to grow up surrounded by family.”
I feel rather than hear her sharp gasp, but when she doesn’t offer any explanation, I don’t question her. Instead, I reach around her and turn off the water, then lean back against the side of the tub, repositioning her so she’s lying on top of me instead of wrapped around me.
“Did you really build this house yourself?” she asks after several moments of silence.
“Most of it, although I had to employ a contractor to help when I realized I wanted it to be more than a single-story home.”
“It’s a beautiful house,” she says softly.
“I’m glad you like it. I hoped you would, although if you didn’t, I would have knocked it down and started over.”
She laughs, her body vibrating softly against mine, like she thinks I’m joking, but I’m not. If she hated this house, I’d bulldoze it to the ground. This will be our home for the rest of our lives, and I designed all of it with our future in mind.
“This plot is a little over ten thousand acres. It’s secure, fenced on all four sides, but with access through the gate onto the Barnett property. There’s more than enough room for all of my brothers to build their homes here without it ever feeling crowded.”
“Are all the smoke jumpers your family?” she asks.
“No. But I do consider Buck, Nero, Oz, Danny, Anders, and Warrick my brothers. They, along with Tori, are my family.”
“And they all plan to build houses here?” she asks.
“Buck, Nero, Oz, and Danny have all selected plots of land.”
“Do you think the other two will want to live here too?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Anders and Henry will, I believe. I’m not sure about Warrick. He’s single, and he’s never spoken about his plans for after his time in the fire service is over. But the option is there if he chooses to.”
“It’s nice that you’re so close to your team. Why didn’t you tell them about me?” she questions wearily.
“I thought it would be inappropriate to tell them before I told you,” I admit.
Soft chuckles slowly build into loud, vibrant laughter as she pushes her hands up on my chest and props herself up so she can look at me. “This is crazy. You know that, don’t you?”
“It feels perfectly normal to me.”
Shaking her head, she’s smiling as she settles back against my chest, turning her face so she’s fully resting on me, her cheek pressed against my steadily beating heart.
For a while, we just lie in the water, but when the urge to check the time starts to push at me, I reach for the soap and take care of her, washing her body and hair, before hurrying to get myself clean.
She doesn’t protest when I lift her out of the water or lead her into the closet and offer her the choice of one of my shirts again. Redressing in my clothes from earlier, I take her hand and lead her out of the bedroom and down into the living room.
It’s after 1800 hours by the time I leave her sitting on the couch, scrolling through furniture websites on my iPad. Dinner is at 1900 hours, and I refuse to delay even after our late lunch.
Opening the refrigerator, I retrieve the things I need to make chili and set them neatly on the counter. Methodically, I work through the recipe I memorized years ago, dicing and sautéing the veggies before adding them to a large pan. The scent of tomatoes and spices fill the air, and I glance over to look at Octavia. Instead of finding her expressive eyes on me, they’re closed, her tiny body curled into a ball, her head resting against the arm of the couch as she sleeps peacefully.
She’s still asleep by the time our food is ready, and I debate if I should wake her up or just eat alone and serve her when she opens her eyes. In the end, my need to stick to my schedule urges me to wake her.
“Little doll,” I say quietly, stroking my fingers over her cheek.
She stirs for a second, but quickly settles again.
“Doll, dinner is ready,” I say a little louder.
“Hmm,” she sighs, rolling onto her back, lifting her hand to rub at her face with her eyes still shut.
“Time to wake up,” I tell her, feeling the ticking inside of me, as 1900 hours clicks past.
