Page 143 of Sinful
After I wrap up in the garage, we head back to the cabin and finish the cabin improvements that evening.
New paint in the bedroom—soft gray that Bravos picked out.
Curtains I hemmed myself because I'm apparently domestic now.
Photos on the walls—us at the ranch, my family from before everything went wrong, his sisters in their frame of honor on the mantle.
The second bedroom is painted but empty. "For the future," we keep saying. Office or guest room or something else we're not ready to name yet.
The cabin is small but it's ours.
Every nail, every board, every improvement made with our own hands.
"They're going to love it," Bravos says, surveying our work.
"You think?" I'm nervous.
I want my parents to see I made the right choice, want Elfe to see I'm thriving, not just surviving, and want my dad to be proud.
"I know." He pulls me close. "Because you're happy. That's all they want to see."
Dinner is simple—tacos that we make together in our tiny kitchen, bumping into each other, stealing kisses between chopping vegetables and warming tortillas.
This is what normal looks like. What peace looks like.
We eat on the porch as the sun sets, watching the horses graze in the distance, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
