Page 133 of Lucky 22

He reaches over and gives my thigh an affectionate squeeze.“Don’t worry. We’ll be there in like two minutes.”

I laugh nervously. “Where?”

The only answer I get is a soft chuckle.

We drive past a few more unfinished homes until we stop infront of one of them.

“We’re here,” he says, as if it explains everything.

I look at the house and then back at my husband. “Okay, am Istill asleep? Because there is no way a house under construction servesbreakfast. It’s just not possible,” I joke.

Beside me, Christian twists in his seat to face me. And, inhis typical, loving way, takes my hand in his.

“The other night—after we got home from the awards show—yousaid something to me that…well…didn’t sit right.”

All I can do is stare because I have no idea what he’stalking about.

“You told me I made all your dreams come true,” he saidgruffly, his thumb gently stroking my wrist. “That wasn’t exactly true.”

“What are you even talking about? Of course, it’s true. Ourentire relationship…all the things we’ve done…”

“Please,” he says quietly. “I need to say this.”

So, I sit and patiently wait.

“That first move to St. Louis, you told me you weredisappointed because you envisioned our lives in California. It was close towhere most of your work was, and if I had stayed playing for Anaheim, it wouldhave been perfect. That move was the first of many, and no matter where wewere, we had a roof over our heads, but it was never truly ours. Never truly ahome.”

“But they were,” I argue lightly. “Home is where we bothare. It’s…”

This time, he puts a finger over my lips, even as he triesto give me a stern look. “May I?”

I nod.

“Thank you.” He lets out a long breath. “It was never trulya home. We didn’t paint, we didn’t decorate, we didn’t put down roots. We werea team of nomads, essentially. And I know—even though you rarely said it outloud—that you have always wanted a home of your own. A home of ourown. So, that’s what this is.”

I gasp as his words register.

“This is where we’re going to put down roots. This is wherewe’re going to decorate and buy furniture and put all our awards on display.” Ihear the emotion in his voice, and those brilliant blue eyes are shining withunshed tears. “This is where you will forever get to come home to. I know yourjob can take us all over the world, but when that job is done, you have ahouse—a home—that is yours.”

“Oh, my goodness…” I glance over my shoulder—at the barebones of a house—in wonder.

Home.

When I look back at him, I can tell he’s unsure of how I’mfeeling.

“What about you? This can’t all be for me.”

He visibly relaxes. “I’m going to work with a couple ofyouth baseball teams here.” He shrugs. “It just feels right.”

I mentally curse the console in the car as I try to climbover so I can hug him properly. “I can’t believe you did this for me. For us.”I bury my face in his neck, getting as close to him as I possibly can.

“Welcome home, Ella Rose.”

Pulling back, I kiss him. I kiss him and pour every ounce oflove and emotion and gratitude and just…everything I have into it. And I wouldhave kept kissing him, except we’re interrupted.

By my stomach growling.

Ugh…