One day, I want to sit at a fire with a cigar and a glass of whiskey.
“This place is...more than it looks, Maren,” I admit as I climb back in the truck, my heart doing a nervous little kick against my ribs. “It’sthesite. Where we got started.”
Parking out front of the still burnt-out skeleton of the once sprawling Tudor mansion, I take a moment. Peering up at the place, I let that warm ache in my chest, the one that drives me to do this work, to build, to restore, overwhelm me a moment. Glancing over at Maren, I reach for her hand, bringing it to my lips.
“One day there will no more dry wall to hang, no more brick to build, it will be complete. Tonight, it’s just...a vision of what I hope can be. A glimpse of what we can do if we work hard enough,” I admit.
Kissing her palm, I climb out again, pulling her after me. Helping her down, I let her have a moment to take it all in. Even with the structure mostly burnt out, if you look hard enough, you can see it in all its grandeur. See how it once stood toweringabove True Ridge, on the highest hill in town, almost looking down as if offering protection.
“Close your eyes,” I plead as I step behind her, drawing her body back against my chest. “Let me tell you what I see. It had one fireplace, I want one in each room, but the grandest one in the main den. Huge, river stones will make that one up. It will be big enough to stand in the hearth. There will be big leather chairs, enough for all of us to sit there together with stogies and bourbons,” I explain, seeing it a if flickers to life like a film in front of us.
“You have beautiful vision, honey,” she whispers, shivering a little in the cool night air.
“Come on, I want to show you my favorite spot,” I explain.
Leading her inside, past the crumbled doors, beyond a few of the walls we’ve built back up, I head for the winding staircase. It sits off the corner of the main foyer, the lone structure not touched by the fire. The slate steps show char marks, but they’re safe. At the top of the steps, off the first left, is a music alcove circled by a beautiful stained-glass window overlooking the expanse of the property.
Parts of the window were ruined in the fire, so a cool breeze blows in and we’re given a glimpse of the night beyond. Set in the small alcove is a little table, Edison lights hanging from the ceiling. Dexter hung them with me earlier. Tanner set up the table and set out some flowers to fill the alcove with soft, sweet air. We passed Ethan on our way in, a tip of his hand letting me know the dinner sitting waiting for us was set up in perfect time.
“Oh, Morgan...this is...wow this is beautiful,” she whispers as she takes it all in, making my chest puff with pride.
“I tried, honey. I thought you deserved a little romance,” I tell her with a wink. Leading her to the table, I pull her chair out like a good gentleman, then take the seat across from her.Pouring us some wine, I nod at the domes covering the food, urging her to lift them. Once she does, those pretty eyes flicker to mine, both of us laughing.
Beneath the domes sit two towering bacon, lettuce, and sandwiches with hand cut fries. Her favorite order from Embers—I might have bribed her new bestie Evie to make them special with extra everything just for us. Reaching across the table, I grasp her hand, dropping my head to brush my lips over palm.
“I stick with what works,” I say with a wink.
Maren sits beneath the twinkling lights hanging over us, in a pretty brown floral lace dress. I will never forget how her skin shimmers beneath the lights, how her eyes shine, how that dress fits her body perfectly. I won’t forget how the bacon smells and how sweet the cheap wine is. I tried to get everything perfect for us and I think I nailed it.
“This works, Mr. Brant,” she purrs, drawing my hand across the table so she can copy me, pressing her lips to my palm. “Everything about this works.”
Smiling at her proudly, I nod at her food. Ethan would be pissed if we didn’t demolish our dinner. Though, I sent him because after seeing him react to Evie earlier at the diner, I thought it was time he took his big brother’s lead. I am doing something about finding my happy ending—I think all of us can find whatever our happy ending means for us.
We do demolish dinner because Evie made it perfect. The fries and golden brown, salty, and perfectly crisp. There is so much thick cut bacon I would consider it death by pork if it was not so delicious. We sip at the cheap wine Ethan got at the closest corner store, humming at the sweetness. It is the best meal I have ever had, sitting with in my very favorite spot, with the most important person in the world to me.
“Stop staring,” she teases, popping a fry in her mouth. I watch her chew, fascinated by every little thing about her.
“No, I don’t think I will,” I shoot back, reaching out to steal a fry off her play. I laugh when she swats my hand away. “Look around you, can’t you see that I know true beauty once I see it?”
“Touche, Mr. Brant. I see why you love it here, why you want to see this it brought back to life. This place it...it makes you feel as if,” she sighs, taking the lodge in with a smile. “As if you’re on top of the world.”
“I am,” I am quick to respond, my gaze fixed on her as I say it.
We talk and eat beneath the night skies and the soft lights overhead. I tell her I was wrong before—I said I did not love the hard work, the building that I do with my brothers. That was a half-truth. I do love it. Getting dirty, smashing my thumb with a hammer, filling my lungs with sawdust, to step back and see something I created or corrected. It’s an amazing feeling.
Maren likens her work at the bank to my own craft. Closing the right deals, building small businesses with partnerships that last generations. All based on her judgement of a good deal, on her ability to read people. I agree it is not different at all—we both want to build something doing the one thing we’re best at doing.
“Come, dance with me,” I urge, pulling my phone out to cue up some music. Some soft Chopin fills the space and she laughs as I pull her to her feet. Showing her all the sides of me—the guy in the flashy suit, the hard worker hanging drywall, a man who loves Chopin and features a Degas painting in my office—it’s the most intimate I’ve ever been with someone.
“Degas earlier, Chopin now. Color me impressed,” she muses as she presses close, as if reading my thoughts. It’s something she’s done before.
Taking her hand, I pull her even closer, brushing my lips over her knuckles as we begin to move. Spinning her across the damaged floors, I hum along with the melody. The air smells ofher perfume, the fries, and the cool night. Tipping my head back, I look at the stars glittering in the cobalt skies overhead. I cannot wait to build this place back up—tonight I am all about building something with the woman in my arms.
“This is so beautiful,” she whispers against my throat as she burrows her face there.
Letting my hand glide up her back, I fist her thick, dark hair to tug her head back. “This is beautiful, honey. We’re so fucking beautiful,” I husk, my words trembling because I mean it much deeper than I can express in words.
Staring up at me, she nods. Pushing up on her toes, she fits her mouth to mine. Bending a little, I scoop her up. I want this to be perfect. We don’t need a bed for perfection. This place could not be more perfect for this. Walking backwards until I’m in the alcove again, I sweep the table out of the way. Pressing her against the alcove window, I waste no time.
