“A key to Stark House. It’s yours if you want it.”
Poppy’s hands flew to her mouth and those tears she’d been keeping at bay began to fall. “It’s too much. I can’t let you buy it. If we’re really partners, then I want to pay my own way.”
“How about I buy half the house, and you take a loan out for the second half?” he said, but she could tell he didn’t like it. “What’s your answer?” he asked and the uncertainty in his tone grabbed her by the heart.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Ever since I was a kid, I wondered what it would feel like to be chosen. I never imagined it would feel like this. I want to spend our days demoing and our nights making love.”
“I like the first part,” he said, pulling her close. “But I love the second part.”
He dipped his head down and kissed her like he could kiss her forever. That’s when Poppy decided it was the best board meeting of her life.
EPILOGUE
Two years later…
Two years after the cameras left, the Stark House finally felt like it was telling the truth.
Poppy stood barefoot in the hallway, one hand braced against the wall, the other steadying Lavender as she pressed her baby heels flat against the door trim. The wood still held the penciled marks of Poppy’s childhood—ages, dates, a few crooked lines where Aunt Opal had insisted they measure twice “for posterity.”
Lavender was all soft edges and bright intent, a ten-month-old with wide, curious eyes that missed nothing and a shock of dark curly dark that refused to lie flat, no matter how many times Poppy smoothed it down.
She had her mother’s expressive brows and her father’s determined chin, a combination that made even her quiet moments feel like she was gearing up for something important. There was a seriousness to the way she studied the world—like she was cataloging it for later—followed by sudden, explosive joy when she decided she liked what she saw. Already, shecarried herself like a child who expected life to meet her halfway.
“Okay,” Poppy murmured. “Stand tall, bug.”
Lavender blinked at her, serious as a tiny judge, then leaned back with a wobble that made Decker instinctively reach out.
“She’s sturdier than she looks,” Poppy said, smiling without looking at him.
“That’s what you said about the house before the plumbing exploded,” Decker replied.
She snorted. “That was sabotage.”
He crouched beside them, pencil ready. “Still feels weird that we’re adding to this side,” he said quietly, nodding toward the empty stretch of trim opposite Poppy’s childhood marks. “Like history expanding.”
Poppy glanced down at Lavender, then back at the wall. “I used to look at these and feel like they were proof I survived,” she said. “Now it just feels like proof we stayed.”
Decker’s mouth softened. “Best fix up ever.”
They marked the line together—Lavender’s height, today’s date, her name written in Decker’s careful block letters.
“There,” he said. “Official.”
Lavender chose that moment to twist, clearly offended by the concept of stillness. She pitched forward, arms windmilling.
“Oh—Lav—” Poppy started.
But Taters was already there.
Built like a horse but spotted like a cow, Taters had become Lavender’s best friend, protector and, most importantly, family.
The dog planted himself directly in front of her, broad back presented like a living handrail. Lavender grabbed fistfuls of fur, steadied, then—astonished—let go.
One step.
Then another.
The hallway held its breath.
