The upstairs is just as expansive as the downstairs, but the crowning jewel is the primary bathroom. A deep bathtub sits next to a huge window, with a view overlooking the water. From the tub, a person could watch the waves crash against the rocks for hours. I climb into the tub and kick my feet.
“This is incredible,” I say. “Whoever gets this place is going to be so lucky.”
Miles just smiles at me adoringly. Something he’s done a lot of in the last year. I don’t think anyone has ever loved me as well as he has in the last four months. Not even College Miles loved me this well.
He still hasn’t said it, but I know he feels it. And I know it’s coming.
He leads me back down the stairs and through the empty living room to the kitchen, where, to my surprise, there’s a bouquet of fresh flowers on the counter—a beautiful mix of pinkand purple florals that look like they might grow in the front yard.
Tucked in the flowers is a note with my name on it.
I look to Miles. “These are for me?”
He nods, a knowing smile on his face.
“This is so sweet, thank you,” I say. I bury my nose in the bouquet and then lean toward him for a kiss, which he obliges. “Is this your way of thanking me for helping you pick the designs for this place?”
“Read the note,” he says with a head tilt toward the bouquet. His hand rests on my lower back.
I pick up the note and flip it over, reading the words once. Then twice. I look at Miles and then back down at the note.
Brow furrowed, I read the note a few more times, my heart starting to beat a little harder. A little faster.
“This note says, ‘Welcome Home,’” I say.
Miles takes the bouquet and the note out of my hands and sets them on the counter, sliding his arms around my waist, pulling me toward him.
“I’m not flipping the house,” he says.
“What do you mean? What does that mean?”
“I’m keeping it.”
“You’re…”
I’m hearing the words he’s saying, but they’re not fully registering.
“I’m keeping this house. For us.”
“But the money—it costs so much money. I think. You won’t tell me. You can’t do that, you can’t keep it.”
“I can, and I will.”
“Why?” My voice cracks, rising emotions making it harder to get words out.
“Because once upon a time, I was a twenty-something boy in love with a twenty-something girl and I couldn’t tell her that Iloved her, so instead I promised her a Rhode Island beach house so she would know how much I love her.”
My lips are quivering. It’s too much—all the love in my heart for this man and the overwhelming information that he’s keeping the house that I helped design.
“Are you still that boy?” I ask.
Miles shakes his head. “The Rhode Island beach house is yours. And I love you, Abby.”
My eyes well and spill over with tears. The words I’ve been waiting to hear—not just for the last few months, but the words I deserved to hear all those years ago. It’s as meaningful as I thought it would be. Not just for me, but for twenty-two-year-old Abby, who deserved to be told how loved she was.
“I love you so much, Miles.”
I try to swallow back the emotion, but there are too many of them, and I let my tears drip onto his shoulder as I wrap my arms around his neck in a hug. I bury my nose into his neck, inhaling the familiar spicy vanilla scent of him. He holds me tight, his thumb stroking my back.
