“It’s a billion dollar company, Lana.”
“How many kids do you think we’re going to have?!”
He chuckles, his hand wrapping around my rib cage. “It doesn’t matter, at least they’ll be okay. They can go to college and they won’t have to be in debt like us, baby.”
“This is too much money,” I choke.
“It’s not.”
“Have you seen the zeros on this thing?”
“I wrote it.”
I glare at him. “Christian.”
He chuckles and pulls me in between his legs. “This is our house, Lana. All of it,” he says. “I bought it for you.”
I sniffle. “No, you bought it forus. Our family.”
“Do you like it?” Christian asks stupidly. “If the furniture isn’t right, I can try to return?—”
“No,” I snap breathlessly. “No, it’s perfect—it’s beautiful. I… Christian, I don’t know what to say…”
“Tell me you’ll move in,” he chuckles. “Tell me you’ll sell your house and live with me in this one—ourhouse.”
“I…” I swallow and blink to let the tears fall away so I can see him clearly. “Yes.”
Christian beams. “Yes?”
I nod, a sob breaking its way out of me. “Yes.”
His hands are on my cheeks and his lips are on mine in an instant. I taste the salt of tears on his lips, and I don’t know if it is only mine or if it’s a mixture of ours, but it doesn’t matter because I am kissing him in a house he bought for us and our future. He bought the house we could onlydream offour years ago.
Christian is kissing me inourhouse and I feel what it means tolive. To love with so much of your soul that it is split into two. I have half of his, and he has half of mine—an even trade of ourselves.
“I have one more thing,” he breathes against my lips. Between our chests, he holds up a thick, black Sharpie.
“What is it?”
He releases me to round the island so I take a seat on the empty stool. I watch as he opens a cabinet and pulls out a giant, Mason jar. Much,muchbigger than the cracked, sixteen ounce one we stuffed what we could into. This one is at least asixty-four ounce jar and his hand wraps around it like it’s the tinier one.
Christian pulls out the stool beside me and sets the jar down in front of me, the sharpie beside it. “We no longer need a house jar,” he says, pride flashing in his bright brown eyes. “Butthisone is for the sunflowers I buy you every week. This jar is just for you.”
“But—”
“You aren’t my sunflower,” he says. “You’re the sun, and I’m the sunflower following whatever direction you tell me to go in. I’m the sunflower always searching for you and always wanting to be in your light, baby.Youare the sun.”
My lip trembles and I press my hand into his stubbled cheek. “But you’re my sun too,” I croak. “My light.”
Christian turns and kisses the center of my palm. I hold him with my hand curved at his nape and he hands me the sharpie. “Write it, Lana.”
I smile at the black sharpie, then at him, and I take it. The cap snaps onto the bottom of the marker and I grab the jar, steadying it on my lap as I write.
Before I unveil it, I cap the marker and set it aside. Then I show him.
Sunflower Jar.
From behind him, he pulls out our old jar and sets it down beside our new jar. He pushes them into the center of the island and they are the two best centerpieces the world will ever see.
