The room had turned out beautifully. I couldn’t believe Jack had sneaky-moved all the furniture in and had the bed delivered. Over the windows were the curtains I’d picked out, and I knew if I walked into the new bathroom, I’d find the fuzzy navy-blue bathmat I’d ordered.
Jack had been supportive throughout the whole design process for the remodel. We’d talked through options, and nine times out of ten, he’d agreed with whatever I wanted. I’d felt a little guilty until we’d had a long talk about what made us happy. Jack had promised that seeing me get the house of my dreams waswhat he wanted more than anything. I still had moments where I feared disappointing him, but they were few and far between these days.
I tiptoed out of bed to use the bathroom down the hall. I didn’t want to wake Jack.
Curious about how the kitchen had turned out, I peeked into the room. My attention snagged on the kitchen table—the one Jack had designed and built this spring. I stepped closer and noted the flowers and the candles and the surface laid so beautifully with the good dishes and linen napkins.
Jack had planned dinner for us, and I’d ruined it.
My fingers trailed across the smooth surface of the dark wood as regret and remorse claimed me. On bare feet, I opened the door to the refrigerator. It wasn’t stocked because we hadn’t been living here. But on the middle shelf was a lasagna ready and waiting. There was also garlic bread and a bowl of salad wrapped up in cling film.
I bit my lip, miserable over what I’d messed up last night.
We’d been trying to cheer Joan up, and things had gotten a little out of hand, but that was no excuse. Jack had clearly planned a lovely meal for our first night back in the house.
And I’d gotten day drunk on mimosas with my friends. Then fell asleep.
I scanned the room, wondering how I could fix this, and my attention caught on something I’d missed initially.
The chandelier over the kitchen island was not the one I’d picked out—not the one we’d agreed on with the contractor.
I took in the clusters of delicate crystals and the way they layered and wove between each other in such a lovely, organic configuration. I’d recognize the fixture anywhere. It was the really expensive and extravagant chandelier I’d saved on my Pinterest wish list, not the more modest and reasonable one I’d shown Jack and settled on with the contractor.
Jack had done this for me. He was always doing things for me. In the last six months, he’d made me a priority in a million different ways. And he never stopped asking what I needed.
I swallowed down the emotion tightening my throat and padded quietly down the hall.
When I slid back into bed, Jack’s hazel eyes slowly blinked open.
“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, dark brows drawing together.
“I’m sorry,” I practically wailed and wrapped myself around him. “I feel awful that I ruined your plans last night.”
He stiffened in my hold, muscles going briefly taut before he asked roughly, “My plans?”
“The dinner you made and the beautiful table you set. Our first night together in the house.” I squeezed him even tighter. “I messed it all up, and I’m so sorry.”
Jack relaxed and released a slow breath. His hands rubbed soothing circles on my back. “Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know that I was trying to surprise you.”
“I know, but?—”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he insisted as he cupped my nape and squeezed gently. “We can have a do-over tonight if you want.”
I pulled back to look at him. “No, right now. I want lasagna for breakfast.”
His lips twitched. “You do?”
“Yes,” I replied eagerly. Then I tossed back the covers and hopped out of bed, renewed by the prospect of fixing what I’d broken.
I hurried into the kitchen and washed my hands. Then I tied on an apron I found hanging in the pantry and started pulling all the leftovers from last night out of the fridge.
The floorboards in the hallway creaked, and I knew Jack had followed me.
“You know, some foods are just good anytime,” I babbled as I reached over to preheat the fancy new oven. “They shouldn’t be designated as time- or meal-specific. You should be able to eat pasta for any meal. And pizza obviously. A classic for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Also pancakes. I’m a big fan of breakfast for dinner.”
When I turned around to find Jack, I gasped and slapped a hand over my mouth.
Because he was there, directly behind me, shirtless and in black boxer briefs. He was also waiting on bended knee with a ring box in his hand.
