Charles shook his head. "You mustn't feel as though I'm giving his inheritance away out from under him. The estate will pass to Reaves when I'm gone. The house is yours. Your very own." He smiled. "I made a rule on your behalf when you moved in here. But the rules you set in your own home are your choice."
She looked from him to Reaves and back again. Then, finally, she took Reaves's hand.
"The rule was that you couldn't stay unless and until I invited you to."
He nodded.
"Well. This is me, Reaves. Inviting you to stay. Not just for the night—but for good. Under the same roof. With me."
"And with me," Zia chimed in.
They all laughed at that.
Reaves squeezed her hand. "There's nothing I want more." His big brown eyes were so full of love that everything else seemed to fade away as she leaned in, and he pressed his lips to hers.
"And the prince kissed the princess, and they all lived happily ever after," Zia pronounced.
She and Reaves pulled back, laughing, and Charles got to his feet.
"I think this calls for a drink. Sherry all round?"
Reaves went inside and came back with a tray. Zia giggled when she saw he'd brought a grape juice for her, along with four glasses of sherry.
"Oh—wait," said Charles. "I prepared for this. Just because you can't have sherry doesn't mean you can't enjoy something that tastes like it with us. Reaves—would you run inside? There's a pack of Rolos in my desk drawer. After we talked about it last time, I picked some up. For an occasion such as this."
The sun was finally dropping below the horizon when they all raised their glasses. Zia clunked her juice box against them, making everyone laugh.
"I didn't think this part out," said Charles. "I should have prepared a toast."
"To your new home," he said, as their glasses met.
"To family," said Faye.
"To us," said Reaves.
Alara pressed her glass against each of theirs in turn. "Home."
And Zia waved her juice box in the air and shouted, "Fairytales!"
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alara listened to Zia and Charles through the open window of the camper. She'd towed it over here to the house yesterday, so she could finally unpack her and Zia's things from it. She still couldn't believe the house was hers. She understood why Charles had done it, and she'd be forever grateful. But in her mind, it was her and Reaves's house. Their home. She finally had one.
She moved to the window to watch her daughter showing Charles around. He'd offered to come and help this morning, because Reaves had had to go out on an errand. She hadn't known what she could ask him to do—but she should have known better. He and Zia were keeping each other entertained, and that was a win-win for everyone.
"See the big daisies by the front door, Grandpa Grape? Aren't they pretty?"
Alara's breath caught when Charles said, "They're the most beautiful flowers in the world."
Zia must have caught something in his tone. She tilted her head back and blinked up at him. "Really?"
"Really," he said, with a sad smile. "And you know—these ones here, the big ones like this? They have a special name. They're not just daisies."
Zia stepped closer to him and took hold of his hand. "What are they called?"
"They're called marguerites."
Zia looked at the flowers, then back up at Charles. "That was Grandma Grape's name, wasn't it?"
