“I think we are. Assuming the house passes inspection and Blythe approves of the acoustics.”
“Of course. Acoustics are crucial.”
I lean against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “I love you,” I tell him, the words still carrying wonder.
“I love you too. All of you. Forever.”
Forever. No longer scary, just a promise I actually believe in.
Whatever comes next—hockey seasons and school years, teenage drama and career changes—we’ll handle it together. And that makes all the difference.
The house looksdifferent in daylight than it did during our evening viewing last month. Bigger somehow, more real, with morning sun streaming through the windows and highlighting possibilities I hadn’t noticed before.
“The primary suite is completely separate from the kids’ wing,” the listing agent explains as we tour the upstairs. “Privacy for parents, but close enough to hear if anyone needs anything.”
Beside me, Tyson examines the built-in bookshelves in what would be his room with the intensity of an inspector. “Are these attached to the wall properly? Books are heavy.”
“They’re built-in,” the agent assures him. “Designed to hold a full library.”
“Good. I have a lot of hockey biographies.”
Down the hall, Blythe tests the acoustics of her potential room by singing scales at increasing volume. “The sound carries beautifully!” she announces. “Perfect for vocal warm-ups!”
“Maybe we should test the soundproofing between rooms,” I suggest dryly.
“Already did,” Dex grins. “It’s adequate. Barely.”
The basement is what sells Tyson completely. Finished space with high ceilings, perfect for hockey practice. There’s even a corner that could be converted into a small gym area.
“I could work on my shot accuracy here,” he says, trying to sound casual. “And maybe invite teammates over to practice.”
“Teammates are always welcome,” Dex tells him. “As long as they don’t break anything expensive.”
Outside, the tree house passes Blythe’s inspection with flying colors. “It’s structurally sound and has excellent sightlines to the backyard stage area,” she declares after a thorough examination. “I approve of this residence for theatrical purposes.”
“High praise,” I murmur to Dex.
The backyard is what gets me. Big enough for kids to run around, mature trees for shade, a garden area where I could actually grow vegetables instead of just buying them. Space for birthday parties and barbecues and all the normal family things I never thought we’d have.
“What do you think?” Dex asks as we stand on the back deck, watching the kids explore the yard.
“I think it feels like home,” I admit. “Which is terrifying and perfect at the same time.”
“Good terrifying?”
“Good terrifying. The kind that means something important is about to change.”
He pulls me close, kissing the top of my head. “So we’re doing this?”
“We’re doing this.”
The paperwork takes forever—inspectionsand mortgage applications and negotiations over closing dates. But weeks later, we’re standing in the empty living room with boxes stacked everywhere and two exhausted kids sprawled on the floor.
“I can’t believe we actually live here now,” Tyson says, looking around with satisfaction.
“I can’t believe how much stuff we have,” I reply, eyeing the mountain of boxes labeled “miscellaneous.”
“That’s what happens when you combine two households,” Dex points out. “Turns out I had more kitchen gadgets than I thought.”
