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Blood pounds in my ears. I grip the end of the hospital bed to steady myself, the hard plastic smooth against my palm. “You’re staying here? You’re not leaving?”
“No, Mia,” he says on an exhale. “I’m not leaving.”
The plastic beneath my palm creaks as I grip it harder. “Oh,” I manage to say, my throat clogging.
Des takes a step closer and lifts his palm to touch my cheek. “It was never fake for me, Mia. From the very first moment, it was you.”
“Even when I was angry and awful to you?”
His lips tilt. “You were never awful to me. And your anger just made me want to stay even more. It made me feel like you cared—like I belonged here with you.”
I inhale shakily, wanting so badly to believe him. But—who actuallylikesmy temper? Is it even possible for someone to appreciate all my flaws?
“Oh, tell her the rest,” a raspy voice says from the other bed. We turn to see Arthur with eyes slitted open, scowling at us. “It nearly killed us to go out and do the paperwork this morning, so she might as well know the whole story.”
Des goes still. “You already did the paperwork?”
“Of course, darling boy,” Maude says, smiling. She gestures to her purse, which is sitting on a table beside her bed. “It’s all there. We were just getting a coffee after going to the lawyer’s office this morning when Mia tried her best to give me a heart attack. Cheeky girl.”
“But I haven’t transferred any money—”
“Call it an early inheritance,” Maude says. “Plus, you’ll need your own money to start your life here, don’t you think?”
Des stumbles over his words, staring at his grandmother.
I shift my weight from foot to foot. “Um. Anyone want to explain what’s going on?”
Des blinks, then walks to the purse. He pulls out a green file folder and flips it open. Blinking, he huffs and shakes his head. Then he closes it again and hands the folder to me.
It takes me longer than it should to realize what I’m looking at. It’s a property transfer deed, and it has my name on it—and the address of both the barbershop and the attached apartment. Des planned on buying the barbershop and apartment from his grandparents to give to me. He sold his house to get the money, not knowing Maude and Arthur would gift it to me anyway.
It’s too much. My hands start trembling, my eyes go blurry, and it’s impossible to read any further. I drop the folder onto the end of Maude’s hospital bed, bury my face in my hands, and burst into tears.
The hourthat follows is a blur. I know that, from their hospital beds, both Maude and Arthur alternated between comforting me and chiding me for being silly. Des dithered and worried about me like a ginormous mother hen.
By the time the nurse kicked us out of the room, I felt like I was living in a dream land. Des had come to the hospital in a taxi straight from the airport, so he gently extricated my keys from my hands and told me he’d drive.
Now, the car is sliding into the parking space behind the apartment. Yellow light spills out of every window, and when Des cuts the engine, we just sit there in silence for a while.
His hand covers mine, squeezing gently. “I love you, Mia,” he says simply.
I turn to look at him, throat tight. “Really?”
He smiles. “Yes.”
“You didn’t have to give me a whole property to prove it, you know.”
That just makes him laugh. He lifts my hand and places a kiss against my palm, then leans in to kiss my lips. It’s slow, tender, and it consumes me from the inside out. He tastes like home, like happiness, like everything I’ve denied myself for a decade.
When our kiss ends, I rest my forehead against his. “I love you too”—I touch his beard, combing my fingers through the coarse hair—“but you need a shave.”
His laughter is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. He kisses me once more, then exits the car and helps me to the door.
It’s only when the door opens that I remember who’s watching Bailey.
My mother is in the kitchen, putting foil over some kind of casserole she made for dinner. My father is sitting at the table across from Bailey, frowning at his cards when Bailey crows, “Go fish!” with a triumphant smile.
Bailey jumps out of her chair. “Mom! Des! You’re back!” She runs toward us and, expecting her to hug me, I spread my arms—but she goes straight to Des.
