Page 122 of Other Side Of Never
Could it be or was it too much to hope for?
I’d been disappointed so many, many times.
“Look out the window,” Kian ordered softly with his hand at the small of my back.
I moved forward in a daze.Seeing my vision, my dream, come to life was almost cruel if it couldn’t be mine.
My lips parted with realization that it was the very next best thing.“Kian!You built this house for you and Isaiah!”
He grinned at me, his eyes crinkling with amusement and something that looked suspiciously like pain.“Do you like it?”
“I love it,” I confessed, moving toward him.
Grasping me by the shoulders, he spun me around to face the window.“It was the best I could do,” he murmured.
Outside, an old paint rag hung on a long laundry line and fluttered in the breeze.
I laughed.“Nothing like the smell of an old paint rag hanging on the line.”
Pinching my butt, he jerked his chin toward the window, pointing first one direction, then another.“The wood oven will go right there, and I laid the foundation for the firepit over there.”
“It’s perfect,” I whispered.
“I like this speechless version of Bridget,” he teased.
“My voice may never return to its usual pitch and volume again,” I confessed, my voice shaking.
Pulling me back against his chest, he teased, “We should be so lucky.”
I elbowed him lightly, eliciting a soft ‘oof.’
His voice dropped.“Be nice, Bridget, or I won’t show you the rest.”
Pushing away from him, I headed for the stairs and declared, “Oh, you’re showing me the rest!”
He remained downstairs, hands on his hips.“Still bare bones up there, Bridge.”
I turned and cocked an eyebrow.“Are the bathrooms in?”
He shook his head and held out his hand, his face as serious as I’d ever seen it.“What I want to show you is outside.”
Walking around to the back of the property, he stopped at the doors of the outbuilding he claimed had to be torn down.
“So, I never did make it up to you for that dinner you bought me at Susie Q’s.”
My brow furrowed.“You have chickens in here?”
His eyes lit up, and he burst out laughing.“No, no chickens.”
Shaking his head, still chuckling, he swung open the door and ushered me inside.
Stainless steel countertops stretched along one wall.Five bright, shiny new kettles lined up on a second countertop, bookended by a massive, double refrigerator on one side, a utility sink and grease trap on the other.
A working island took up the center of the room while shelves stocked with bags and bags of callets lined the back wall.
I couldn’t breathe.
Like I was walking through blackstrap molasses, I made my way around the room.Cooking racks stacked with pans.A peg board holding my molds.
