Page 142 of Where We Bloom

When our meal is finished, I take her hand and lead her out of the bedroom. Once we’re at the bottom of the stairs, we head down the hall, past my office, and I hear her gasp.

“This place is way too big if I missed the fact that you added on while we were gone.” She laughs.

I stop her before we reach the new area and frame her face. “Close your eyes.”

She grins at me so wide and happy that I have to kiss her before she does as she’s told.

“Keep them closed.”

“Okay.” She’s still smiling as I lead her to the entry of the room. French doors open silently as I guide her forward, and once we’re inside, I step around to stand at her side so I can see her expression.

“Open your eyes,mo chroi.”

Those beautiful eyes widen, her jaw drops, and her hands fly up to cover her mouth as she takes it all in.

“Robin’s egg blue,” she whispers, her gaze skimming the shelves that line all the walls. A large window looks out to the mountains, but aside from that, the rest of the room is for bookshelves.

“Look up,” I whisper.

She gasps, and tears fill her eyes.

The ceiling is wallpapered with blues and yellows, hints of pink. And the light fixture is crystal.

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “It’s too beautiful.”

“Never.” I kiss her cheek and then her neck.

“The chairs are amazing.” They’ve been placed in the center of the room, with their own ottomans and tables for snacks and drinks. “I’m glad there’s two of them. You can sit with me.”

“That was the plan,” I reply, happy that she’s okay with me being in here with her. “The shelves are empty because I knew you’d want to arrange them your own way, but I did have your library from your old place carefully boxed up and brought here. They’re in a guest room, ready when you are.”

Her eyes are bouncing everywhere, still trying to take it all in. They land on the one section of shelves that isn’t empty, and she hurries over.

“Connor.”

“Yes, my angel?”

Her hand lifts as if she wants to touch, but then she pulls back again.

“Baby, tell me you didn’t … I can’t …Connor.”

“Hey.” I wrap my arms around her from behind and bury my lips in her hair. She clings to me, her eyes still pinned to the books before us. “Take a breath.”

She does, but it’s shaky.

“These look like really old books.”

“They’re all first editions,” I reply as my eyes skim the titles.

“And”—she swallows hard—“Wuthering Heightshas Ellis Bell as the author. Oh my God.”

“You can touch them.”

“I don’t have gloves.”

I grin. “You know, I read somewhere that the gloves do more damage than your hands. Touch them.”

Carefully, she reaches forWuthering Heights, and a tear slips down her cheek as she opens the cover.

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