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Several turns later, the car begins to slow before stopping completely.
“Ma’am?”
I look to the driver to see him nod out the passenger side.
The house he directs my attention to is adorable, painted a seafoam green with a little white fence around it. The entire house is trimmed in white. The porch is huge, and without even craning my neck, I can tell that the backyard is the beach, the ocean not very far from that.
“This isn’t the right house,” I mutter as Harley unsnaps his seatbelt and climbs into my lap. His breath fogs up the window.
“This is 5609 Crescent Square.”
“I love this house, Momma.”
I do too, I think, but I’d never say it out loud because this is a mistake.
“I’ll get your luggage,” the driver says as he opens his door.
“Can you just wait?” I ask, as I type out a text.
Me: This is a mistake. This can’t be where I’m supposed to live. I can’t afford this house, Robbie.
I climb out of the car because Harley is a ball of energy, but I manage to catch him by the arm before he races up the front porch.
“Please wait for me,” I tell him.
The driver waits by the back of the car for further instruction.
“Momma,” Harley groans in complaint. “You didn’t tell me there was a swing set.”
I can see it around the side of the house as well, but I won’t let him go to go check it out.
Robbie hasn’t texted me back. Of course he hasn’t. Why would he actually be present while any of this was going on?
I reread the text thread, looking up and seeing the welcome mat near the front door.
Before checking the numbers on the house, I turn back to the driver.
“You’re sure this is the right house?”
He nods.
“And there isn’t a 5609 Crescent Drive or 5609 Crescent Road in a less expensive neighborhood?”
“I can check.”
I wait on the front walk with a squirming little boy beside me as the driver pulls out his cell phone. The wait seems to take forever.
“There’s not another Crescent anything in Galveston Texas, ma’am. This is the only one.”
“Thank you.” I look down at Harley. “Stay right beside me, understand?”
He nods. I walk slowly up the front porch steps, bending to look under the mat, and right where Robbie texted it would be is the key. It’s like I’m living in the damn twilight zone. I pick it up, but I don’t insert it into the lock.
I knock on the front door.
“You have a key. Why are you knocking?” Harley asks like I’m crazy.
I’m feeling a little crazy right now.
The front door is just as gorgeous as the rest of the property, more glass than wood, a beautiful, beveled floral design. I don’t think I would’ve noticed the movement inside the house if I weren’t looking at it so intently. I knock again, but no one comes to the door. Like a weirdo, I press my nose to the glass, hoping it will help me see better. It doesn’t.
All I can make out is a huge shape standing right in the middle of the entryway.
“Use the key, Momma.”
“Someone is in there,” I say.
“Ask them if I can play on the swing set.”
“Get back,” I hiss when the shape moves.
Sensing my fear, Harley moves in front of me before I can shift to protect him.
I don’t know when he deemed himself my protector, but the forty-pound little guy puffs out his chest as the door swings open.
“Micah!” Harley screams.
I’m speechless, tears burning my eyes at the sight of him.
Harley doesn’t waste a second jumping into his arms, just like Micah doesn’t waste a second crouching to catch him. I lose the sight of his magnificent blue eyes as they flutter closed when he hugs my son, his arms wrapped all the way around his tiny frame.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers, shifting Harley to one hip as he reaches for me with his free hand. “Welcome home.”
Harley rests his head on Micah’s shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I get the sudden urge to pinch myself, terrified that I’ve fallen asleep on the plane, and I’m dreaming.
“What are you doing here?”
“I love you, woman. Do you really think I was going to let you move to Texas without me?”
I blink up at him. “Love?”
“Like a lot,” he says with a wide grin.
“Micah, there’s a swing set out back.”
Micah looks from me to my son. “And an ocean. Wanna check it out?” Harley nods, wiggling to be set free.
“Through there.” He points toward a door at the back of the house. “But just the swing set for right now.”
“What is—”
He presses his fingers to my mouth, silencing me.
“We have a million things to talk about, and we’ll get to them, but first—”
He covers my mouth with his, tongue sweeping inside. I groan, gripping his shirt as his hands grip my ass.
