Page 49 of Her Age Gap Match

She looked up at me. “So this is where you actually spend money?”

I laughed softly. “Yup. This is where all the money goes. Right here into this property…into our home.”

Shit.

Our home.

I hadn't planned to say it. It had just come out.

I watched her face, waiting to see if it was too much.

She turned back to the water.

"Our home," she repeated quietly

"Too fast?" I said.

She was quiet for a moment. The waves came in and broke on the rocks and pulled back and came in again.

"You know what's funny," she said. "I've been telling myself this whole week that it's too fast. That five days isn't enough to know anything. But…then I stand here and I can't make myself believe it."

"Because it isn't five days," I said. "Not really."

"No," she agreed. "Not really."

She leaned into me and I put my arm around her and we watched the lake together. It was almost full dark now, just the white of the waves visible and the last grey light on the water.

"Growing up in Detroit," I said, "kids from certain families had lake houses. You knew who they were. You knew what it meant. I told myself when I was maybe fifteen that I was going to have land on this lake someday."

She looked up at me.

"Took me a while," I said.

“But you got here," she said.

"Yeah." I looked out at the water. "I got here."

She smiled. “And now I’m here too.”

I couldn’t help but kiss her.

I lifted her chin with my other hand and pulled her face up to mine…closing my eyes, enjoying it, standing here on this property. Three kids with red hair playing on this beach in the summer. The picture ran through my head on repeat.

“You wanna see the house now?” I asked.

She nodded.

We walked back up the boardwalk, and I pulled our things out of the saddlebags on my bike. Unlocked the door…reached in to hit the lights. Poppy stepped in behind me, her breath leaving her in a woosh as she got her first glimpse of the place.

It was a good house; I wasn’t modest about that. Open floor plan, fieldstone fireplace taking up most of the far wall, kitchen running along the north side with good counter space and a floor to ceiling window over the sink that looked out toward the barn. Wide plank floors, real wood.

It still smelled like sawdust at times, probably always would.

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s not finished.”

“It’s perfect,” she breathed. She walked toward the fireplace, trailing her fingers along the mantel. “But…could use more decorations. Family photos, some artwork maybe? House plants?”

My lips curved. “Guess you could say it needs a woman’s touch.”