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Her eyes glistened in the dark as she said, “Thank you for taking care of us. Both of us. You didn’t have to, but you did.”
“You never have to do this alone again.”
“I know,” she said, her voice a choked whisper. “I don’t want to.”
I kissed her again—slow, and deep.
“We should go make sure they’re not wrecking the house,” she whispered as I ran my hand through her hair. “These three are going to be trouble.”
“You’re not wrong,” I replied, but I wanted nothing more than to stay here, with her in my lap, the stairs shining overhead as I kissed her. The house could go to hell. But then I remembered something.
Her surprise.
“I actually have something for you,” I said softly, brushing a quick kiss on her lips before standing straight up and setting her on her feet.
She righted her dress, giving me a suspicious look. “What? What is it?”
I took her hand, unable to hide the smile that played across my face. “Come with me.”
ChapterThirty-Two
One Month Later
Moira
Ileaned back in the desk chair in my home office, stretching my arms over my head. Afternoon sunlight drifted lazily through the window, and outside the leaves were still full, green, and rich even though it was early August. Our hot, unforgivingly dry June had bled into a rainy July, but August seemed to be pretty mild so far.
I was thankful for it, especially since my office had the best view of the pastures, in my humble opinion.
This room had been my surprise.
Grant had built me this office, including the built-in bookshelves, computer desk, and drafting table. It was painted a deep emerald green and he’d hung up all the weird art I’d loved from the antique stores in town in frames dusted with gold paint.
I’d been spending most of my week in this space—my own little sanctuary.
I leaned forward and pulled up the email I’d received earlier in the day and hitprint, smiling smugly to myself as the printer across the room started to buzz and tremble.
“Take that, Shelby Francis.” I chuckled.
I got up, stretched, and gathered my coffee cup and the plate that had once been home to a turkey sandwich before snatching the paper off the printer, the page still warm to the touch.
I walked out into the hallway, glancing at Grant’s office before I continued down the hall to Day’s room. His door was slightly ajar, and inside I could hear him hacking over the gentle hum of the humidifier that was purring away in the corner of the room. I nudged the door open with my feet, peeking around it.
“Hey, kid. How’re you feeling?”
Day looked at me through bloodshot eyes and I winced. I padded into the room, looking down at him.
“You look terrible,” I said, setting everything I was carrying down on his desk.
“I feel terrible.”
I felt his forehead with the back of my fingers, sighing as I pulled them away.
“Still running a fever,” I chided playfully, sitting on the edge of his bed. He rolled toward me so I could pat his back. Poor kid.
“It’s not fair that I get sick during the first sunny days we’ve had in weeks,” he said, his voice hoarse.
I looked around his room, which had been another big surprise of Grant’s. He’d painted it a deep electric blue and filled it with shelves for all of the trinkets and rocks Day liked to collect. The shelves were already almost full, of course.
