“That’s a great idea,” Mia said.
I felt Vance’s hand on my back, steady and warm, and I glanced up at him to see his eyes glistening with tears.
Margot set the scrapbook down carefully, then threw her arms around my neck. “Thank you helping to grow me bigger.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Take up space, baby girl. Big as you can be.”
I held her tight, this sweet girl who’d been through so much. “We’re going to have so many happy memories.”
When she pulled back, she was smiling. “Can we start today? On my book?”
“We have the beach today, but how about tomorrow?,” I asked. “We can go to the craft store in the morning.”
“Oh, totally,” Mia said. “We’ll get stickers and fancy paper and everything.”
“And ribbon,” Margot added. “I like ribbon.”
“Then ribbon it is,” I said.
Vance and I got up from the floor to sit together on the loveseat, watching the girls flip through more pages of Mia’s scrapbook.
“You’re a wonderful mother,” Vance murmured against my hair.
“I do my best. But I’m not perfect.”
“To me, you are.” He leaned close to kiss me.
The girls made exaggerated gagging sounds that made us both laugh.
“Gross,” Mia declared.
“So gross,” Margot agreed, but she was smiling.
“Get used to it,” Vance told them. “There will be a lot of kissing in our home.”
They both dissolved into giggles.
I read recently that when people look back on their lives, it’s the small, ordinary moments that they remember most. I knew it would be true for me too. This sweet, everyday moment would play before my eyes. Not the TV deal. Not the money or the fame or the platform. Just this. Just us. A lazy Saturday morning with nowhere to be and no one to perform for.
It took me another four weeks to transform Vance’s house from a construction site into a home. After the crews had left, I’d called in my regular contractor. We’d come up with an aggressive plan to finish the house by mid-October.
And now, finally, it was done.
On a crisp fall day, I stood on the sidewalk, looking at the house where we would live as a family of four. Since technically I was an interior designer only, I’d called in my favorite architectural stylist and a landscape architect I’d worked with many times before to help us with the exteriors.
They’d done a fabulous job. The exterior featured light gray cedar shingles paired with crisp white trim, giving it a timeless Cape Cod feel. A stone walkway, lined with neatly manicured boxwood shrubs and mulch beds, led up to a spacious covered porch framed by large windows and French doors. The porch opened into a bright interior with a view of the water beyond.
“It’s beautiful,” Margot whispered beside me.
“It really is,” Mia agreed.
Vance stood on the porch, keys in hand, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ready to see inside?”
“Yes!” both girls shouted, racing up the steps.
I followed more slowly, savoring the moment. I’d worked so hard to make it special. I truly hoped the girls found it as magical as I. Vance opened the door, and we all stepped inside.
For the entryway, I’d chosen wide plank hardwood floors in a weathered oak finish, walls painted in the softest warm white, a vintage console table I’d found at an estate sale holding a simple vase of eucalyptus. Afternoon light poured through the windows.
