Page 148 of His Greatest Muse

“What if I don’t love them properly?”

Releasing the gas, I press the brake, pulling in behind my father’s truck. When we’ve stopped moving, I hold the steering wheel with both hands and stare out her window at the house.

It’s been redone, renovated from the outside in. I kept the same structural outline, but most of the frame had to be redone. It was falling apart. Now it’s sturdy. Safe.

It was renovated with her likes and dislikes in mind. I kept the same porch design and room layout. Memories are written on the walls of our bedroom upstairs. They fill this house. Now, she can make it a home.

“Can I please take this blindfold off? This isn’t a conversation I want to be having when I can’t even look at you,” she pleads.

I reach across the console and pull the tie free, letting the blindfold fall to her lap. The moment she sees the house, she’s tipping her head back and laughing angrily. My stomach turns at her reaction, unsure how to take it.

“You impossible man,” she murmurs. When our eyes meet, hers are glassy, the corners wet. I catch the first tear that falls with my thumb and then do the same to the next. “It’s our house.”

“It is.”

“When did you do this? How?”

I run my thumb over the dip in her upper lip. “I bought the house when the others in the neighbourhood started to sell to developers. It’s ours. It was never meant to be turned into something cookie-cutter. After our last night here, I started with the renovations. I know you want to stay in Toronto, but we can have this house when we come to Vancouver. No more hotels or staying with anyone. Just us.”

“Just us,” she echoes. “Inourhouse. A house I expected to be gone by now. One full of memories of us.”

I watch her, not speaking. Disbelief travels across her features, and then she’s shaking her head.

“And you think you couldn’t love our children? You may love differently than others, but you love even stronger. Fiercer. I would be the luckiest woman in the world to have you be the father of my children someday.” She points to the house but doesn’t look away from me. I feel the affection in her eyes all the way to my toes. “I will never stop being grateful for you, Noah. You’re my other half. Our future is endless. Regardless of whether we have children or not.”

I don’t have the words to reply. My lips find hers instead. I kiss her hard, trying to portray my emotions in the easiest way for me. Physically.

She smiles against my mouth, understanding me. Knew she would.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your dad’s truck in front of us,” she whispers. When I open my eyes, she’s already looking at me. “You’re not about to propose, are you?”

I keep my expression flat. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

I’m not, but marrying her has never scared me. It’s always only been a matter of time.

“Yeah, right.”

“You’ve never cared about marriage,” I say.

“It’s a waste of money and time,” we recall in unison. She’s been telling me this for years.

Dropping her voice an octave, she says, “But I wouldn’t exactly be opposed to being your wife, Noah Hutton. If you want that too, that is.”

Then—without letting me reply—she’s opening the car door and stepping into the bitter February air, leaving me to watch her ass sway in a pair of tight jeans as she walks away.

Thinking of Tinsley taking my last name has always made my dick hard. But now . . . now it becomes a necessity. Number one on my to-do list.

* * *

My dad pats my back when he joins me in the kitchen. With a long neck in his hand and his baseball cap on, he looks younger than usual. Like the man in the old photos of him and Mom.

He leans against the counter and stares at the women in the living room as they reset a board game on the floor. I do the same, but I’m only watching one woman. Mine. She’s been talking to my mom and sister all night, giggling that fucking giggle, driving me out of my mind. I want to tell everyone to leave and carry her to our bedroom. We can paint the walls with her cries.

Dad seems to sense I’m struggling and tries to distract me. “This is a beautiful house, Noah. You’ve done a great job.”

It’s dark and warm. Bright during the day but dim at night. Pieces of her and pieces of me while capturing her taste above everything else.

“She likes it.”

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