Page 88 of Quintessentially

I smile. “You haven’t asked.”

“I haven’t. But I want you to know that I have money, some investments, and savings. I want to continue practicing law. Real estate is my thing, but instead of two-hundred-million-dollar projects, I think I’d like to concentrate on residential and commercial that are more affordable.”

“Two hundred million?” That number is beyond my comprehension.

He squeezes my hand. “I have time to decide. I figure when winter comes, I can spend my time renovating the house and the second floor of Quintessential Treasures. I’m no carpenter, but Grandpa John taught me a thing or two, and I’m sure Mick can teach me.”

“What about before winter?”

“Do you know anyone who needs help with harvest?”

“I do.”

“I’m free.”

I lean my head to his shoulder. “You’re amazing.”

Dax lifts my chin. “That’s you.”

His lips meet mine. This kiss is longer, sending detonations through my nervous system until my nipples draw taut. Pulling away, I grin. “Let me get Molly ready for bed, and you can come upstairs and read her a story if you want.”

“I want.”

We both stand. As I start to walk toward the door, Dax seizes my hand and tugs me to his solid chest. Our lips come together again as his arm snakes around me.

“Don’t be sorry, Kandace. I’ve been happier in the last two weeks than I can remember being in years. You didn’t take my dream away or make me give it up. You’ve given me a new dream.”

“I love you,” I confess, knowing I have for most of my life.

“I love you, too.”

ChapterThirty-Three

Dax

It’s been nearly a month since I last stepped foot in Chicago. The house is coming along, complete with some new furniture and a washer and dryer. The master bedroom now has a king-sized bed that doesn’t squeak.

While work hasn’t started above Quintessential Treasures, Kandace and I spoke with Lynell Jacobs about the wiring. He said that it’s functional for what is present, meaning the store, but if additional space is utilized, replacing the electrical panel is recommended.

That update is on his schedule.

While I can swing a hammer and use a saw, I’m not the man to rewire anything.

My weekdays start at the diner on Main Street. I have a standing date with a beautiful girl with her mommy’s hair color and her dad’s color of eyes. Once our breakfast is over, I take Molly to Quintessential Treasures and then drive her to school. My Porsche is gone, replaced by a truck with a super cab—plenty of room for a car seat.

Some mornings I see the guys at the diner. Most of my days are spent with the one person who wasn’t happy to see me back in Riverbend. The Sheers property is larger than I remembered. Justin studied agriculture at Purdue and has made some worthwhile changes to the crops, changes that replenish the soil instead of draining it of its nutrients. It turns out that running a farm isn’t as simple as one would think.

Randy is home from rehab, and doing better each day. He was just recently cleared to drive again. I think Bridget is happy to get him out of the house. She’s back to work at the hospital in Washington.

I still haven’t asked Kandace to marry me, but I will.

We are taking things slowly for us and for Molly. That doesn’t mean we haven’t had playdates or that the big box of condoms hasn’t been used. Hint, we have, and they have.

Today isn’t a weekday. It’s Saturday. That means it’s Kandace’s busiest day at Quintessential Treasures and according to Justin, just another day. We had more help on the farm today as Ricky, Mick, and even Cory came out to pitch in. The silo is nearly filled with corn. The Sheers have a contract with a company in Illinois. The corn we harvested is going to be turned into ethanol. Learning about all of this has me thinking about my future.

There are farms all around that aren’t being used. If I could represent the landowners and broker arrangements, they could benefit from the crops produced. We aren’t talking big money, but to a struggling landowner, it could be their safety net.

I’m in the office in my house, showered after a long day and working on a few things Gena sent me. There’s a pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove and another pot with water waiting to be heated when I hear welcome voices.

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