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“You’re getting louder since we got married.”
“I’ve been your wife for six hours.”
“A long six hours.”
I can’t help but laugh as we turn off the road and onto his property. The driveway curves before Dane’s house rises from the trees in dark timber and stone, with huge windows facing the mountains and smoke curling from a massive chimney. A covered porch wraps around one side. Warm light glows behind the glass.
He parks and helps me out of his truck, carrying my suitcase inside. When he opens the front door I step in and am greeted with wide-plank floors. Exposed beams. Stone fireplace. Leather furniture. Dane’s home is beautiful.
“Did you build this?”
“Most of it.”
“With your hands?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “What else would I use?”
Heat climbs my neck. “So where’s my room?”
“Upstairs. I’ll give you the tour.”
I follow him to the second floor.
He opens the first door.
I look inside. Then back at him. The room has no floor. Well, part of it has a floor. The rest is exposed plywood, tools, drywall, and what appears to be half a wall.
“What happened?”
“Pipe burst.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“You didn’t think to mention this before I married you?”
“Didn’t come up.”
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“My room.”
I laugh. “No.”
“I’ll take the couch,” he says.
“You’re six-four. You can’t sleep on that couch.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?”
I don’t have one.
The couch is big.
