Whistleblower protections.
Public accountability reports.
It’s not performative anymore. It’s very real.
We fall into a rhythm. Breakfast on the terrace. He makes the coffee. I burn the toast. We attend community meetings where nothing dramatic happens. We help islanders navigate predatory contracts. We run errands together. I sleep in his bed at the private villa and we have the most amazing sex every night.
Exhibit E: Domestic bliss. Who would have thunk it?
One morning, Corin asks me to meet him at a property on the far side of the island. I assume it’s for an islander in need of our assistance against the big guys. Maybe a fisherman who’s being forced out by a foreign resort developer.
Keon drives me along winding coastal roads. I watch the palm trees blur past the window and mentally prepare my arsenal of contract law arguments.
When we arrive, though, Corin is already there. He’s leaning against a weathered porch railing with that look he gets when he’s planning something.
What’s he up to?
I step out of the car and take in the property fully. It’s a small cottage with pale stucco walls, a sun-room that faces the ocean, and what looks like a detached studio off to one side. It’s charming really, and perfect for someone who needs a quiet workspace near the beach.
Wait a minute.
“What is this?” I ask.
He hands me a folder. Inside I find deed paperwork and a proposal for the Eleuthera Legal Access Program’s permanent director residence.
Wait. Permanent director? Not co-director?
I flip through the pages. There’s an organizational chart. A salary structure that makes my eyes widen slightly. A formal appointment letter with my name on it.
Oh.
He’s not just offering me a house.
He’s offering me the whole thing.
I stare at it. Then at him. Then back at the deed. “You bought a house for me?”
“I bought it for the clinic,” he corrects. “If you want it.”
I walk through the sun-room. Notice the bookshelves built for legal texts. The desk positioned to catch the morning light. The windows that frame the ocean like a painting.
It’sperfect.
And yet, terrifying.
“I don’t know what to tell you.” I stare at the ocean through the window. “What if I say no?” I glance at him.
He leans against the doorframe, looking devastatingly attractive in his rolled up sleeves. “Then I’ll sell it to someone who needs it, and we’ll figure out something else.”
I smile at him. “You’d really let me choose?”
He nods. “Always.”
I cross the room, cup his face in my hands, and kiss him.
When I pull back, I say, “I’ll take it. But I do have a condition.”
He looks me straight in the eye. “Anything.”
