Page 78 of The Road to Finding Us

“Do you want to come in?” he asks nervously, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to point at the house. “I want to show you something.”

“I’d like that,” I tell him, tucking my hands in the back pockets of my jean shorts, giving them something to do so they don’t reach out and touch him.

“Okay,” he breathes out, pausing awkwardly. “Let’s do it.”

He turns around, leading the way up the stairs. “The porch wraps all the way around the house,” he says. “Same as Maverick and Veronica’s. Mine’s a bit bigger, though.”

He pushes the front door handle down and then holds it open for me to step in. “Keep in mind the inside isn’t quite done yet, but I think you’ll be able to see my vision for it. You’re good at that kind of thing.”

I move past him to step inside.

“Make sure to keep your shoes on,” he says from behind me. “The contractors still haven’t cleaned everything up.”

I look down at my Birks, not sure how protective they’ll be, but I don’t say anything. When I step into the entryway, I stop dead in my tracks.

It’s beautiful.

There’s still a ladder in one corner, and there isn’t paint or anything like that. But Aspen is right. I can definitely see his vision.

And it’s…perfect.

Looking down, I find gorgeous restored hardwood floors. The color is a dark ash, contrasting against the white wainscoting that runs along the wall. You can see most of the first floor from the spot I stand in.

When I look around, I find what I imagine is a large dining area, the window from the front of the house letting in a perfect amount of natural light. Moving deeper into the house from the dining room, I see the bones of a giant kitchen. White cabinets have been installed, the same to be said for a giant island in the middle. And to make it even more spectacular, there’s a built-in breakfast nook overlooking the back porch and yard.

I absentmindedly run my hand over the sturdy railing to the staircase on my right. There’s a large open space with a stone fireplace, which will be the living room, I’m sure. The fireplace is massive—a piece of wood already attached to serve as a beautiful mantle.

The fireplace sits on the left wall of the living room, and the back wall is just a large wall of windows. A set of French doors separates the windows from the living room and kitchen.

There’s a hallway off the living room that must lead to the bedrooms, like Maverick and Veronica’s house does.

“What do you think?” Aspen asks quietly.

I finally look away from the house, finding his gaze already on me, and the intensity of it nearly startles me. The way he’s looking at me sends goosebumps up my bare arms. “I think it’s stunning,” I admit.

That earns me a grin. He points his head down the hallway. “Want to look at the master?”

“Lead the way.”

Aspen rubs his palms together before heading toward the hallway. When we step through the large doorway of the master, I stop once again. The space is absolutely massive. There are exposed beams across the high ceiling, and even a little nook tucked into two of the windows that would be a perfect spot to spend the mornings.

I imagine myself sitting in front of the windows, sketching out an outfit design and drinking my morning coffee.

The thought catches me off guard. I shouldn’t be imagining myself in his space, but here I am—imagining living in this house that’s his.

So why does it feel like it’s meant for me?

My eyes trail over the fireplace sitting in the master as my heartbeat picks up.

I start to panic the more I envision myself here, in this room that’s been made for Aspen. I imagine the large bed this room will house. The things that will happen on the bed. I imagine playing with a dog in the backyard and cooking dinner in that gorgeous kitchen.

Without logic or reason, I start to picture so many different scenarios of Aspen and I sharing this house. Each and every one making me question whether or not I made the right decision the other night.

If the love between us had never been real, if it couldn’t one day last, then why do I feel myself in this house?

Why can I picture myself watering the flowers on his porch, reading a book in the corner, laughing by the fireplace with him? I envision the two of us doing so many mundane tasks here. The thought is jarring, because those thoughts shouldn’t exist for something that was only a game. For something without a true foundation.

And suddenly, I come to the realization, I want to do whatever it takes to keep Aspen forever. We might not have started in the most conventional way, but that doesn’t mean we can’t start again—correctly.

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