Page 367 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
When we reached the base of the tree, Hart pauses and looks out over the land behind us.
“I talked to my aunt and uncle and they agreed to sell.”
“You’re buying it?”
He turns to face me, his hands taking mine. “We can buy it. If you want to. It wouldn’t be mine, or yours. It would beours. A fresh start. Not just to live, but to build everything we’ve dreamt.”
Emotion swells in my throat.
Before I can speak, or even before I could even try, he lets out a sharp whistle.
The dogs bound to us.
“How did you teach them that on the ride over?” I laugh, wiping a tear off my cheek.
Apparently, I’ve become a crier too, but I’m okay with that too.
Attacked to Hershey’s harness is a rolled up paper.
“What is that?”
Hart crouches down, gently stroking the dog. “Find out.”
I slide the papers out and open it.
Blueprints.
Real ones.
The kind you submit to an architect. The kind that leads to concrete and lumber and the sound of hammers on fresh wood.
Not just any blueprint, but it’s our dream house. Every detail we love ever discussed. Small. Two bedrooms. The barn attached.
“You remembered all of it,” I whispered.
“Of course I did.” He stands. “And I want to build it with you.”
I look up at him, eyes brimming in stupid tears.
“So?” He slides a piece of hair that’s fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear. “What do you say?”
I glance back down at the plans in my hand, then at the land that stretching around us, cleared just enough for a ranch house and a barn.
I smile.
“I say we build it.”
He kisses me. The kind of kiss I’ll never tire of. Pulling me so close I feel his heart beating against mine, lifting me higher as if we were both suspended in this one perfect moment.
When our lips part he doesn’t let me go. “The matchmakers were asking about our wedding.”
“You didn’t tell them, did you?”
He shakes his head. “It’s our little secret.
EPILOGUE
WILMA AND FAYE
