Page 334 of Wild Card 13

“You don’t want to think about it?”

“I have been thinking about it.”

My breath left me in a rough, quiet sound.

Lucy shifted closer, setting her glass beside mine. “Ty, half of Dottie’s worldly possessions are already here.”

“That dog has more possessions than I do.”

“She is a woman of taste.”

“She eats leaves.” I laughed, and she smiled wider, but there were tears gathered along her lashes now. She did not let them fall. She just looked at me through them, brave and open and not hiding from the size of the moment.

“And most of my stuff is still in boxes anyway,” she added. A yes wrapped in humor because otherwise it would be too much to touch directly.

I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. “That’s your official answer?”

“Yes.”

“Because I can accept something more formal. We could get paperwork. Maybe have Dottie notarize it.”

“Dottie would charge snacks.”

“She’s ruthless.”

“She learned from Naomi.”

I smiled, but my throat had gone tight.

Lucy’s expression changed. The teasing softened. She shifted onto her knees on the couch and touched my jaw. “Hey,” she said. “I mean it.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I nodded.

She searched my face anyway, because Lucy had learned the hard way that I could say fine and mean breaking. She had learned me when we were kids, then had to learn the adult version too, and somehow she still wanted the whole complicated map.

“This house already feels like home to me,” she said again, quieter. “Not because it’s yours. Because we’re here.”

“I want our life.” I turned my face into her palm. “Not you fitting into mine. Not me asking you to make room around the edges. I want our mornings. Our dog. Our mess in the kitchen.”

She laughed, but the sound broke a little.

I leaned closer and rested my forehead against hers.

The rain softened against the roof, steady now instead of fierce. The fire was lower, red at its heart. The house felt still around us, but not empty. Not waiting.

Lucy slid her fingers into my hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The words were not new anymore. They were no longer a confession torn out under a summer sky at a wedding, no longer something bright and terrifying that changed the ground beneath us.

They were part of the house now. Part of the furniture. The fire. The rain. The bowl by the door with Dottie’s name on it. The overnight bag in the mudroom. The future reaching for us with both hands.

Lucy kissed me. A brush of her mouth over mine. A breath of laughter when I reached for her too quickly and she murmured, “Easy, Burns,” against my lips.