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“Of course.”

I smile and kiss the top of her head, pointing up the hill where my steps are still a little worse for wear, though the scaffolding is gone from the exterior of my big old house.

Briar squints and shields her eyes from the sun. "This is your house?"

“Yeah.”

"Cameron, it's beautiful." We climb the steps, and I open the door, gesturing for her to go in first. We take it in together, because I haven’t been here in person since the night of our fight.

The plaster is smooth and matches the original. The hardwood is refinished with the original stain. The trim is preserved. Everything smells of new paint, sawdust, and linseed oil.

Briar walks through the foyer, a small smile on her face. She looks at the mantel, the original tile around the fireplace, and the stained-glass windows above my built-in bookshelves. “I can’t believe all this got done so fast.” She frowns at me. “Did you really have a flood or were you just trying to get in my guest bed?”

I run a hand through my hair, laughing. “I assure you, this was a disaster zone.”

She walks into the kitchen. New counters, but the same layout. The appliances are modest. The window above the sink looks out onto the patio and the short path to the former garage. “You’re going to need some deck chairs,” she says. “Maybe with cup holders so you can read out there in the morning.”

I nod. “I love that idea. Can I show you the upstairs?” I gesture toward the back stairs, and we climb up, admiring the soft gray walls in the hall as we step into the subway-tiled bathroom. “Here we go. This is just what I wanted.”

We hold hands, staring at the double vanity. I watch her face as she takes in the huge shower with a rain head, a steam feature, and a bench. Briar squeaks. “Cameron, this is … a really sexy shower.”

I grin. “It will be with you in there.”

She runs her hand along the tile. “I am feeling a little grimy, now that you mention it.” She stretches up on tiptoe and kisses me. My body responds, but I don’t want to delay this, even though it’s painful to pull away from her.

“Hang on. There’s more.” I pull her hand past the primary bedroom, where I definitely want to test my new bed, but not until after I show her the smaller room. “This room is for DD," I say. "If she ever wants to stay over. It's not fancy. I just wanted her to have a place."

Briar stands in the doorway of Deen's room, pressing her fingers to her mouth. I hung photos of Briar and the Uprising, and bought a bunch of bookshelves since Delphine is a collector. Briar says nothing for a long time.

Then she walks back into the big room with a huge walk-in closet. The contractor took out one of the smaller bedrooms up here to make room for a zillion hooks and shelves. “His and hers,” I say, stepping behind her. “If you want.”

She turns to me. Her eyes are bright, and her chin is wobbling, the telltale sign of tears. I clear my throat and point out the window toward the back.

"The garage," I say. "I'm converting it into a guest apartment. My parents are coming for a month once it’s done, and I’ll be dragging my father, kicking and screaming, to physical therapy.”

Briar laughs, watery. "A month?"

“Should be enough time for them to properly critique the place. Meet Deen. Argue about parking.”

"Cameron." She wipes her eyes. "My townhouse. If your brothers or Nicky want to visit, they could use it. If I’m here, that is."

I look at her. "You'd do that?"

"Your family is my family."

"You're moving in?"

“Only for the shower.” She steps into me, wraps her arms around my waist, and presses her face into my chest. I hold her. The house is quiet around us — new plaster, old bones, morning light through the windows.

"One more thing," I say into her hair. "I need you to come to the arena with me."

The Furnace is quiet in the off-season. No crowd, no music, no shows today. Just the low hum of the HVAC and our footsteps echoing through the concourse.

Ty Stag meets us outside the executive offices. He's in khakis and an Uprising polo, with silver-speckled hair combed back, and he shakes Briar's hand with both of his.

"Briar. Congratulations. Hell of a season."

"Thank you, Mr. Stag."