He smiles, small and soft. “Unpack.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “I know that part.”
Miles reaches up and tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering at my cheek.
“You good?” he asks, but his eyes say he already knows I’m overwhelmed.
I nod anyway. “I’m just in awe.”
He raises a brow. I wave a hand toward the room for my grandfather. Toward the stairs. Toward the sunlight. Toward the silence that doesn’t feel lonely.
“Miles, you bought a whole house,” I state, like maybe saying it out loud will make it make sense. “With an in-law suite. With ramps. With wider doorways. With?—”
“With a bathroom you can roll a wheelchair into,” he finishes for me, like it’s no big deal.
My eyes sting. I swallow hard. “You did all this in a month. You didn’t make us try to fit into Raff’s house, even though he was nice to offer. You found this place and had all the upgrades done to allow my life to blend into yours and made it look easy and I know it wasn’t.”
He shrugs like I’m talking about changing oil. “Had help.”
“From who? The easy button from the ad a few years ago doesn’t exist, in fact I think that company even went bankrupt or had to close stores. It’s not that simple to do all of this in a month.”
“Raff knows a contractor. Josie knows everybody in Salemburg practically. Country Boy knows how to persuade a person’s estimated timeline.” His mouth quirks like he’s trying not to laugh.
I stare at him. “That’s not normal,” I whisper.
He steps closer, hands settling on my hips, grounding me. “It should be,” he says simply. “And get used to support. You’re not in this life to fight for mere existing. Did that myself, you opened up a whole different thing inside me. Life is about embracing the easy rides and pressing on in the hard. And for me and you, we do it together.”
The words hit harder than I expect. Because he doesn’t say it like he’s trying to impress me. He says it like he genuinely believes a woman shouldn’t have to fight for every inch of her life.
My throat tightens again.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “I wanna show you something.”
“You’ve shown me everything,” I protest, but I let him take my hand anyway.
Miles leads me through the hallway toward the back of the house, past the guest bathroom, past a small office space with built-in shelves, toward a door I’ve opened already but never really seen.
He pushes it open. The in-law suite.
It’s not just a bedroom. It’s a small apartment tucked into the house like it belongs there—bedroom, sitting area, kitchenette with a mini fridge, a little table, a private bathroom with grab bars and a walk-in shower. He has installed a lifter so we can get Papa moved from his bed to his wheelchair. He even has a partition up with a futon behind it so we can have overnight caregivers some too. He’s literally thought of everything Papa could need.
A sliding glass door leads to a small patio.
Papa’s new recliner sits already positioned near the window, as if Miles knew exactly where he’d want to be. “Set him up to not live every second of every day stuck in bed. I know he’s lost the core strength to stand and the tremors are too much for him to pull himself up anymore, but we have the lift and plenty of people nearby to help get him around more.”
And on the side table beside it is Nanny’s photo.
The same one I just put on the mantle. My breath catches.
“Miles,” I whisper, because my heart doesn’t know what else to do. He leans against the doorframe, watching me watch the room.
“Figured he’d want his own space,” he tells me quietly. “But close enough you can check on him any moment you feel you want to.”
A tear slips out before I can stop it. He pushes off the door frame and steps behind me, arms wrapping around my waist. “You okay?” he asks again, softer this time.
“I don’t understand you,” I admit, voice cracking. “I don’t understand how you just make things happen.”
Miles presses a kiss to the side of my head. “That’s what I do.”
