Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Instead, there’s a playset now.
Solid wood. Swings. Slide. Climbing wall.
Two additional swings and a little fort platform with a steering wheel bolted onto one side because Quinn said every good park needs “a driving part.” I learned that taking her to the park for a picnic last month. She loves to run, play, and eat.
There’s a sandbox under the shade tree too. And a row of little pinwheels Lucy commented on when we went shopping for some things at the big box house supply store. They were displayed in the landscaping department beside some hanging baskets I made sure to get for her front porch.
She was right. They do make any place feel fun.
Then again, when it comes to Lucy, she usually is right. I tighten the last bolt, step back, and look at the whole thing.
My house isn’t fancy, but bigger than Lucy’s rental. Three bedrooms. Big kitchen. Open living room. Enough land out back that Quinn can run herself tired and still have room to spare. I bought it years ago because I liked the privacy, liked the workshop out back, liked that it sat far enough off the road to feel like the world couldn’t stumble into it unless I let it. I didn’t stay here much and thought about selling it at different times, but never did. It felt like it was waiting for something and now having Quinn and Lucy it is calling to me.
Now I look around and I see the place so differently, so perfectly. Because I can picture Lucy’s books on the end table. Quinn’s shoes by the door. Her rabbit on the couch.
I already know where Lucy will hang her apron and where Quinn will want her own hooks by the back door for her raincoat, sweatshirt, and which cabinet she will fill with those ridiculous plastic cups with cartoon straws.
Somewhere along the way this stopped being my place in my head and started becoming a house I want to turn into home. For them. For us. That realization should still scare me. It doesn’t. Not anymore.
My phone buzzes with a text message in my pocket.
Lucy: We’re five minutes out. Quinn says if the surprise is a goat she wants to keep it.
I bark out a laugh.
Me: No goats.
Three dots appear.
Lucy: She says that’s disappointing.
I shake my head, grin to myself, and head inside to wash my hands. The house feels lived in already even before they get here.
Lucy’s sweater is draped over the back of one of my kitchen chairs because she left it two nights ago after dinner. Quinn’s coloring pages are stacked on the coffee table because I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out after she forgot them. There’s a bowl of apples on the counter now because Lucy says a home should have fruit visible or nobody eats it.
She’s probably right about that too.
I check the mirror in the hallway on the way back toward the kitchen and nearly laugh at myself. I changed shirts twice. Anxiety is not a common feeling for a man like me.
By the time I hear the crunch of tires in the driveway, my pulse is running harder than it has any right to. I step onto the front porch just as Lucy gets out of the car.
And there she is.
Still capable of wrecking me with one look. She’s in jeans and a soft cream sweater, hair down, sunglasses pushed up on her head. Quinn hops out of the backseat before Lucy can even get the door fully open, rabbit in one hand, sneakers slapping against the drive as she runs for the porch.
“Mellow!”
I crouch and catch her around the middle when she launches herself at me. “Hey, kid.”
She looks up with that serious little face that means she’s conducting official business. “Mama says surprises are about gratitude, not about what ya get.”
I glance at Lucy over Quinn’s head.
Lucy is already laughing. “That sounds like something I’d say.”
Quinn nods solemnly. “Because ya did, mama.”
I set her down and hold out my hand toward Lucy. She takes it without hesitation when she reaches the porch steps, and that easy trust still hits me every single time.
“You look nervous,” she says quietly.
“I’m not.”
She raises a brow. I look at Quinn. Then back at Lucy.
“Okay, a little. I hope you like the surprise”
That smile she gives me—soft, amused, knowing—should be illegal. “Well now I’m excited.”
“Good.”
I squeeze her hand once, then let it go and nod toward the yard.
“Come on.”
Quinn is already trying to peek around me. “Is it a trampoline?”
“No.”
“A horse?”
“No.”
“A goat?”
“Still no goats.”
She sighs dramatically. “This keeps getting worse.”
Lucy laughs, and I feel the sound of it all the way in my chest.
I lead them through the house first, not because that was the plan, but because some part of me wants to watch Lucy take this place in with fresh eyes before we get to the big thing.