Page 137 of Dagger

John turned the steering wheel into the area by the creek. Back in the day, the ground had been grassy and filled with flowers and weeds, so we’d had to park up and walk down to the water.

Now, it had been leveled and paved. The road sloped gently down toward the building site, where the houses looked to be in various stages of completion.

The truck came to a stop, and John leaned forward to the glove box and pressed it open. He held up a familiar scrap of cloth. “Remember this?”

“No,” I replied.

He sat me up, turned me around, and gently slipped the cloth over my eyes before tying it securely at the back. “It’s the same one I used to blindfold you the night I made you mine,” he rumbled, causing a warm shiver to run down my back.

The door slammed, then, within seconds, my door opened, and strong hands pulled me from Bessie. I felt the sensation of being lifted and pulled into a hard body and I let out a shocked laugh. “What are you doing?”

“It’s a surprise, Leesy,” John replied.

“I’m not eighteen anymore,” I protested. “I can walk.”

“Shut up, Elise,” he told me, humor lacing is tone.

“Don’t you tell me to shut up, John Stone,” I began, indignation curling inside my chest. “I’m a grown-assed woman, and I will not be told what to—oh!” I cried as John placed me back on my feet and held me steady.

“Shh,” he whispered in my ear, causing me to shiver again. “You’ll ruin the goddamned moment. I’m tryin’a impress you here, woman, and you won’t stop giving me lip.”

I opened my mouth to snap back when John suddenly whipped the bandana from my eyes, rested his hands on my shoulders from behind, and murmured, “Look.”

It took a few seconds for my eyes to focus, but when they did, my hands flew to my mouth for a second time that night, and I whispered, “Oh my God.”

When John and I were young, we used to talk about the house he’d build me. He’d ask me what I wanted, how big, the color, how many rooms, and what would need to make it into a home.

Looking at the beautiful, whitewashed building transported me back in time, to those nights when we whispered our hopes and dreams to each other, because before me sat the exact house I’d always dreamed of and identical to the one I used to describe to John in those whispered moments.

“John,” I murmured, my tear-filled eyes frantically flicking over the large, sprawling two-story farmhouse. I took in its perfect symmetrical dormers and gables, with a sage green door situated in the center of the building. The wooden panels had been rendered and whitewashed, but the trims and roof were a modern slate grey that perfectly highlighted the beautiful features. The windows were tall, and the horizontal siding, along with its steeply pitched roof, gave the house charm.

But the detail that took my breath away was the wraparound porch spanning the front of the house and disappearing around the sides. It was white, with the floorboards the same grey as theroof, and contained a white and blue porch swing beside two old-fashioned rocking chairs and a low glass-topped table.

A warm hand took mine, and John pulled me toward the house and up the porch steps to the front door. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys before pushing them into the lock and swinging the pretty green door wide open. He stepped inside and clicked a switch on the wall, which bathed the room in a soft glow. “Come on, baby.’ He jerked his chin toward the hallway behind. “I want you to see everythin’.”

I felt as if I was walking on air. Stunned, I stepped inside the cloakroom and instantly, all tension left my body. Wondrously, I took in the pegs on one wall where you could hang your coats—or cuts. My gaze slid right to study the wide staircase leading upstairs; my eyes widened at the shiny pale oak spindles and boards. The oak theme carried through the reception area with a picture rail, only broken up by the soft grey rug laid across the wooden boards.

“I remember you told me you liked oak,” John admitted. “I think that’s why it’s all through the house. Honestly, Leesy, it wasn’t a conscious decision, none of it was, but when I walked inside the day it was finished, I knew immediately that I’d built it for you. It was everything you told me you wanted when we were kids.”

“When was that?” I asked huskily. “When did you know?”

John took my hand, pulled me into his body, and tipped my chin up with his forefinger, gazing into my eyes. “One week before you came back to me.”

A sob tore from my throat, and I faceplanted into John’s chest. “You always knew?” I cried.

“Yeah, Leesy.” His arms slid across my back, and he held me closer. “I did.” His arms loosened, and he pulled back slightly. “The study’s through that door, and the family roomis opposite.” He pulled me toward a door at the back of the cloakroom and pushed it open. “And this is the kitchen.”

I walked inside the vast room, and my steps faltered at the sight of the pale oak countertops and matching cupboards. The ones fitted on the wall had glass fronts so you could see inside. My gaze fixated on the silver range stove with eight burners and the matching double fridge opposite. The sink was an old-fashioned but trendy Belfast style, which had been built into the shiny new cupboards below. The walls were painted a soft cream that matched the blinds covering the windows, and a set of French doors that looked out onto the long garden with a view of the creek and a large oak tree.

Our tree.

My head whipped around. “John,” I murmured. “I don’t know what to say.”

He slipped an arm around my waist and led me to the doors. “I wanted our tree preserved, so I made it part of the property. I got the pick of the lots, and there was only one choice for me, baby.” He grinned, shaking his head as he turned the key in the lock of the French doors and pushed them open. “Can’t believe you thought I’d chop our tree down.”

I bit back my own grin. “Well, you did knock another woman up. How was I supposed to know that you were carrying a torch for me all along?”

John barked a laugh and pulled me closer. “You wanna go out there?”

---