Page 238 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

One story, because stairs had never been difficult enough to justify designing around them until I thought about twenty or thirty years from now and decided there was no prize for making my own life harder.

The shower in our bathroom had no threshold and a built-in bench I had chosen myself.

The kitchen was mine.

The garage was Beau’s.

He’d claimed thirty percent more square footage than we’d agreed on, so negotiations were ongoing.

We reached the porch. “What are we doing here?” I questioned, the sound of the festival not far from us.

Beau opened the front door. “Five minutes.”

“You said that, five minutes ago.”

He held the door open and I walked inside. Boxes still lined one wall of the living room. We had officially moved in yesterday. Or attempted to. Our bed was assembled and after a long day preparing for the festival, it was all I cared about.

The couch had arrived in boxes and the kitchen contained enough dishes to sustain two adults until we had time to make it a home.

Everything else lived in cardboard boxes labeled things like BATHROOM, GARAGE, CARSON CLOSET and BEAU CRAP.

I’d written the last one.

Inside the house, the festival became far more distant. Music reached us faintly from the pasture, but inside these walls it was just the two of us.

I walked toward the kitchen. “What am I supposed to see?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are we here?”

Beau followed me. “Because I wanted five minutes in our house with you.”

There were still moments when he said things like that without understanding what they did to me. Or maybe he understood perfectly now. I looked toward the windows over the sink. From here I could see the pasture rolling toward the barn. Beyond it, through trees turning orange and gold, the roof of Meme’s farmhouse showed above the hill.

“You know we slept here last night.” I looked at him, loving the five o’clock shadow that was slowly turning into a beard.

“Technically.”

“Technically?” I countered with a giggle, remembering how weird it felt to be in an empty house, yet so perfect because I was in Beau’s arms.

“We spent four hours looking for sheets.”

I laughed, shaking my head at how dorky he could still be a year later. His hands settled around my waist.

“Tonight will be different.”

“Why?”

“Because tonight we aren’t unpacking until two in the morning.”

“You think.”

“No, I know.” His heated gaze lowered to my mouth. “We’re going to finish the festival. Watch everyone leave, and come home.”

Something warm settled beneath my ribs. I would never stop noticing that word from his lips.

“Is that your big plan?”