“Who’s Keller?” I ask, unable to tear my gaze from the pages in my lap.
“My friend who does all my tattoos, lives in Norfolk.”
I glance down at his sinewy arm, rippled with muscle and ink. “I have always wished I could get a tattoo,” I admit tohim longingly.
“Why didn’t you get one?” The lazy strokes of his fingers pull a sigh from my chest, and I tip my face toward the sky.
“Judgment from my family. They were not fans of anything outside of their box. Tattoos were a huge no. I was never ever brave enough to bring it up, even as an adult.” Remington’s snort brings my attention back to him.
“Pretty sure I knew that from the second Ann Quinn laid eyes on me, baby. But that part of your life is over. If you want a tattoo, get a tattoo. Your wish is my command.” He holds up his arm, showing off his sleeve.
“You did these?” I say, shocked.
Laughing he says, “I didn’t tattoo myself, no. Keller did that. But I drew a lot of these, he tweaked them, and then did the ink for me.”
A lightbulb snaps to life in my brain and I gasp. “Kinsley’s room!? That was you?”
Remington nods. “Yes, sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wanted you to see this first.”
I can’t hold back anymore, so I lean in and kiss Remington hoping he can feel every ounce of passion, awe, and love I feel for him in this moment. Time stills as he weaves his fingers through my hair, tugging just the way I like, making me melt against his body. Breathlessly, we pull apart. I want more, but we are in our burnt, open yard. Not exactly the most ideal place for him to strip me naked and make good on all the dirty promises dancing in his lust-soaked eyes right now.
“Go to the last page.” Remington points to the back of the journal as I am still lost in his spell.
“Alright,” I hum.
I remember the last page. It had been right before my birthday. Things were not great with Brett, and I had cried, made girl dinner, cracked open a bottle of wine, and binged classic romantic staples. I said I would never find a man like Harry from the movieWhen Harry Met Sally. I also wrote aboutbeing afraid to voice my deepest dream. I knew that nobody in my life at that point deserved to hear them, let alone hold them.
This is impossible.
There, on the last page of the journal, Remington had filled it with the most stunningpeoniesI had ever seen. Some were in full bloom, others tiny buds. And in the center of them he had written?—
My life started the day I met you.
I want to make your every
dream come true.
You can trust me, Lainey.
I love you.
-R
“Lainey,” he whispers, gentle hands cup my face, “let me all the way in, baby. I want to be part of making your dreams a reality.”
“Youare my greatest dream. I never voiced it because it was never possible with anyone before you. Remington, I want a happy marriage and a loving family. The opposite of the one I was raised in. I want to build a life I am proud of, a home that is happy and full of a life worth living.” My voice is healed, but I feel weak finally admitting what my heart wants, terrified the world will be cruel and rip away my happiness.
“It will be my greatest honor to build that life with you. Starting right here.” He gestures to the black, scraped ground. “We can start from the ground up, make our dream house. Fill it up with love, laughter, happiness, and all the babies you will let me put in you.” I laugh as he tacklesme back to the ground, rolling just right so I am cradled in the safety of his arms, then kisses me like he’s bringing me back to life.
And I think he just might be ... Over and over, every day when he wakes up choosing to love me, just like I always dreamed but never imagined was possible.
53
Remington
ONE MONTH LATER
Iwalk into our bedroom in our new apartment, in Lainey’s old Fox Hollow building, and nearly trip over my own feet at the sight before me. My woman is bent over our bed in nothing but deep-purple lace panties and a matching bra.
