“Maybe that’s why. She wanted to respect the history,” I venture.
He takes my hand. “And I’d love foryouto make history here.” The pad of his thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, and he brings it to his lips.
My heart hammers inside my chest. What is he really talking about—the house, or us? I’m too scared to ask and see my illusions shattered. Because how permanent are we, really? What happens to us, to me, once his inheritance is secured? He said he feels more than lust, but how deep do his feelings really go?
It’s all so new to him.
I clench my jaw, not knowing what to answer.
“You have an eye for things,” he says, misreading my anxiety. “I don’t. Griff seems to have given up on us and Emerald Creek. Beck is too busy spending all his energy outdoors to care about Lilyvale. And Lane… she wants a bigger life away from here.”
Noah’s voice betrays his distress.
I already have so much I never expected; so what if my feelings get bruised in the end?
“Sure, I’ll do it,” I say, focusing my thoughts on the heavy drapes gone, airy spotlights shedding light on contemporary art pieces, comfortable sectionals replacing the stiff settees, wicker baskets full of throws and local pottery vases with wildflowers bringing simplicity inside.
Mamma dog whines and nudges my hand, bringing me back to the present. “You tired of always giving your attention to your babies, aren’t you?” I dig my fingers into her thick fur, feeling how she’s filled up. “You need attention too. Yes you do.”
“We need to find her a name,” Noah says, reaching over my lap to pet her as well.
“I was thinking Calla, like the lilies? and like Callaway.”
Noah turns his face to me, grazing my mouth with his lips. “Oh, you were thinking about her name, huh?” He smiles and nibbles on my earlobe, making me want him again.
I whisper the lie. “Only a little. Randomly, you know.” I like her and hate that I can’t call her… anything.
Noah chuckles and boops my nose. “Moose and Calla. That sounds good. Two names drawn from nature. I like it.”
“What do you think?” I ask Calla. She answers me by licking my cheek, then nips gently at one of her puppies who’s managed to climb the steps and is now biting at her nipple.
The two other puppies yap in frustration, wanting in yet bumping against the first step cluelessly.
“Almost there,” Noah says, chuckling. Grazing my cheek with the back of his hand, he adds, “And did you officially changeyourname yet?”
My cheeks burn. I wasn’t planning on it. It’s a pain in the neck. Why would I do that? Yet something warm coils inside of me. “Right,” I say. “Let’s not give Gail more ammo than she already has. I’m sorry, I should have—”
Noah’s gaze darkens. “Fuck Gail. That’s not why I was asking.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’ll do it. You’re right.”
He switches positions so he’s kneeling in front and below me on the steps, moving the puppy gently to the side. “Willow. You’re my wife. I want for you what you want for yourself. If you don’t think it’s right that a woman changes her name when she gets married, it’s fine by me.” He stands. “We should definitely add that to the spreadsheet.”
I grab his hand before he can go anywhere. “What did you say?”
“I’m gonna add it to the spreadsheet.”
“Before that.”The thing about being your wife.“About…” I lick my lips, unsure how to phrase this. He dropped a bomb on me, not even realizing it. “You wanting for me what I want for myself.”
He pulls me up, and being above him on the staircase, our eyes are level. “Absolutely. My wife calls the shots in this household. Anybody who doesn’t like it can go to hell.” His mouth closes on mine, his kiss giving me the strength I need to process what he just said.
Noah Callaway sees me and treats me as his real wife.
“Come on, let’s finish this dinner in style,” he says, grabbing the takeout bag in one hand and pulling me against him.
The adventurous puppy tumbles down the steps as Calla jumps down, and we all snuggle in the parlor in front of a real fire. “They get a pass for today,” Noah declares as he pulls out a couple of china plates and crystal glasses that we set on a small bench in front of us.
“Fire dinner! Much better than a TV dinner,” I say, leaning over to press a kiss on my husband’s cheek. Calla settles at my feet while the little ones go and explore. “Don’t get lost!” I tell them.
