Page 207 of The Exit Strategy

“Yeah.” He tugs on the back of his neck and breaks eye contact. “You going to be okay, Katie?”

“Finally,” she slurs with a big smile on her face. “You owe me. I need a shower and some water. Oh, there’s water in the shower.” She giggles.

“Is she going to be okay?” he asks when she’s out of sight.

“Fine. She’s not that drunk. I cut her off after one of her fishbowls, and I hid the vodka before she could make another.”

“Smart girl,” he says, crossing the room in two strides. He takes my face in his large hands and kisses me with thekind of slow precision he uses when building a very special model.

“Cole,” I say when he rests his forehead against mine. “What the hell’s going on today?”

A slow, devious smile spreads across his face. “Put this on and then meet me in the car.” I hadn’t noticed anything when he walked in, but that’s because he must have hung it over the banister the moment he entered.

“My green dress?”

“My favorite dress,” he says. “Meet me in the car.” Cole practically runs out of Katie’s house, and with her in the shower, I have no choice but to do as he says.

The driveto Papa’s fishing hole takes less than two minutes, and that’s only because Stanley has a procession of golf carts crisscrossing the road in front of us. They only fall away when we turn onto the dirt road that leads to Papa’s land.

Six months ago, it was just land and a dock. Now it has a house that’s almost ready to become a home—our home.

I’ve walked this drive more times than I can count now. I know what’s at the end of the road. I’ve memorized it.

But…it’s not like it was even a week ago.

The driveway has string lights, and someone has added paper lanterns to the trees. They hang in low, warm clusters, lit even though it’s not yet dark.

The house comes into view. The porch we redesigned six times until we were sure it was perfect is covered in flowers—small arrangements in every color sitting in mason jars in various sizes. Each and every one of them has sweet peas.

I don’t realize my fingers are digging into his thigh untilhe turns my hand palm up and laces his fingers through mine. “Trust me, sweetheart.”

“Cole.”

“Yeah?” He puts the car in park.

“What did you do?”

He chuckles. “I built you a porch.”

“Is that all?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “Not even close. I made you a porch. And the residents of The Haven are about to clap from across the marsh because they can’t help themselves, and Stanley got a megaphone he’s been forbidden from using, and Bea has, against her better judgment, told me what verb to use. Nana Mae is sitting somewhere with a glass of wine, pretending she had nothing to do with this, and I’m going to need you to go up those steps with me, Junie, because I’ve been planning this for months and the alternative is I burst into flames.”

“Bea told you the verb?”

“She did. She said it would be helpful for us both.”

“Today?”

“This morning,” he confirms.

“Freaking Bea. She should’ve just sent me home with the whole damn box of tissues.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. Now, let’s go.”

The floral-covered porch smells like the best day of my life. Glowing lanterns frame our wide-open front door, showing me the entry I helped design.

Cole takes my hand. “Junie.”