With the truck turned off, the temperature is quickly dropping. Spring is fully upon us in Georgia, but the nights are still cool, and in her wedding dress, Sarah’s shoulders and arms are exposed. “Come on,” I say. “You’re going to freeze if we stay out here any longer.”
When we reach the front porch, she makes me close my eyes while she opens the door, then she takes my hands, guiding me across the threshold. The touch reminds me that now that we’re home and no longer in public, I can’t touch her like I have been all night.
Those little touches—a kiss to her temple, a squeeze of her fingers, her palm grazing across my shoulder orslipping under my suit coat to hook around my waist. They were some of my favorite parts of the night.
Second only to the kiss we shared before the ceremony.
And the tiny hitch in Sarah’s voice when she said her vows. The emotion felt so incredibly real. Over and over—it all feelsso real.
“Okay,” Sarah says, a slight tremble in her words. “You can open your eyes.”
We’re standing in between the main living and dining areas, and I have to blink as I take in the transformation. The house looks…amazing.To my left, the living room is anchored by a low-profile leather sofa and a pair of matching chairs. The gas fireplace on the back wall is lit, casting a warm glow into the room. The only other light is a lamp, making the whole space feel cozy. Like home. On the wall opposite the couch, there’s a collage of artwork, and I look closely, wondering if any of it is Sarah’s. It doesn’t appear to be, though it’s all stuff I like. Warm tones, landscapes, trees. Things that feel like they’re bringing the outdoors in.
“That big one is the TV,” she says from beside me. She picks up a remote and changes the landscape filling the TV screen. “It looks like art when it isn’t on.”
“I wouldn’t have known had you not told me,” I say. I look over at her. “Sarah, this is amazing. I can’t believe you did all this.”
She takes my hand and tugs me toward the dining room. “I really love the table Emerson found. It’s walnut and so beautiful, and even if Emerson might have sold a tiny piece of his soul to get it delivered in time, I really think it completes the space.”
“It’s incredible,” I say, and I’m suddenly struck with a vision of sitting at this table across from Sarah, eating breakfast,watching the sun filter in through the windows. It’s so easy to imagine a life with her, to see her here, filling up these spaces with her energy and her vision and her art.
She’s already turned this place into a home for me. It’s hard to imagine ever occupying the space without her in it.
I lift our entwined fingers to my lips, pressing a kiss to the side of her thumb before I even realize what I’m doing.
Our eyes meet, and the question in her gaze makes me drop her hand and pushmyhands into my pockets. An awkward second passes before I clear my throat. “Thank you,” I say. “I really love how everything turned out.”
“Come see your bedroom,” she says. “It might be my favorite room in the house.”
She’s killing me here—she cannot tell me mybedroomis her favorite room in the house—but I follow her anyway. She stops at the door and spins, putting a hand on my chest to stop my entrance.
“Wait right here,” she says. “I want to turn the lamps on. And close your eyes again.”
I dutifully obey, waiting while she moves into the room ahead of me.
“Okay,” she finally says. “Ready.”
I open my eyes and step into the room, immediately sensing the calming vibe she’s created. The bed ismybed, but she’s updated the bedding and created a clean, masculine space that still has the same cozy feel as the rest of the house. Nightstands anchor the bed on both sides, and a low bookshelf under the window has several plants on top.
I told Sarah once that I love real plants, but I’m afraid to have them because of how much I travel. But I guess now, she’ll be here to water them and keep them alive.
Gordie wanders out from the bathroom and weavesbetween my legs in greeting before jumping onto the bed, flopping onto his side like he owns the place.
Sarah sits down beside him and scratches under his chin, and he immediately starts to purr. But I’m staring at the art hanging on the opposite side of the bed. I’m pretty sure thisisSarah’s work.
I slowly walk across the room, stopping in front of the canvas, my heart suddenly racing.
Because it’s…me.
Or I think it’s me. You can’t see my face, but seventy-four is my jersey number, which she had to have done on purpose. I’m in a knee slide, moving across the ice, like I’m celebrating a goal. Around me, the ice is shifting, moving, crystallizing into swirls of navy, light blue, and white—Jaguars team colors. Above me, the colors shift into an outline of the team logo.
I turn and look at Sarah. She’s watching me from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands fiddling with the folds of her dress. “I was just messing around,” she says, her cheeks flushed with color. “I don’t know if you really want to have a painting of yourself hanging in your room, but I was hoping it more encapsulated the spirit of your entire team. Also, this isn’t the painting. The one I’m doing for you as a part of our deal. I’ve got something bigger planned for that. This is just…this was just for fun.”
I walk over and offer her a hand, pulling her to her feet. “I’m going to give you a purely platonic, very friendly hug now.”
She slides her arms under my suitcoat and grips my waist, and I wrap my arms around her shoulders, leaning down to breathe her in.
“So you like it?” she asks, her cheek pressed against my chest.
