Page 18 of The Write Choice

Whatever spell Brandon is under is broken at that. He stands and reaches out a hand to ruffle Mason’s hair. “My girls and my guy. I’m so glad you’re finally here.” There’s an edge of emotion in his voice that I can’t quite place, but whatever it is disappears as he pays our driver and takes our bags, the kids on his heels as he enters the house.

I stand outside a little longer, staring up at the massive structure in front of us. It is clean and well-designed, but it looks like every other house on the block. And it’s hard for any building to look inviting and warm in the dead of winter. I wrap my arms around myself, rubbing them. Now that Brandon isn’t staring at me like I’m an oasis in the middle of the desert, I’m feeling every degree of the Midwest cold.

“Okay, kids. Go find your new rooms. I’m going to help your mom.” I hear Brandon from the other side of the threshold before I see him come out. He stands on the massive front porch, his hands back in his pockets. He stops and leans against the railing, studying me.

“Hi.” His voice rumbles through me.

I swallow as my hands go still. “Hi.”

He comes off the porch and closes the distance between us. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, but he doesn’t touch me. He only stands close enough for me to see his breath in the cold air and to feel the warmth radiating off his body. All at once, I want nothing more than for him to fold me into the same kind of bear hug he just gave the kids.

“I missed you,” he says again, his expression one of yearning.

I take an instinctive step toward him, my chin tipping up so I can look at his face. I see his hands twitch out of the corner of my eye, as if he’s holding himself back from touching me. I wish he wouldn’t hold back, but I’m also not going to make the first move here. I may have missed him this week, but I am not delusional enough to believe this move is going to magically fix everything.

“It’s been a long week,” I practically whisper.

His eyes soften, and then his broad hands cup my elbows. “I know. I’m sorry. I…” he trails off, then his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “You’re here now. I’m giving you the entire night off.” I scoff at that, and his brow furrows slightly. “I’m serious, Katie. Everything is ready for you in the house. Come on in and see. There’s nothing for you to do but relax.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

He dips his chin, his face coming closer to mine. “Nothing.” For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, his face breaks into another of his bright smiles. “Can I show you?”

He sounds proud, but I’m skeptical. “You set up this entire house. In one week. By yourself.” It’s a statement, not a question, because I absolutely do not believe it.

His eyes turn toward the sky as he tilts his head back and forth. When his gaze meets mine again, he’s smirking more than smiling. “I didn’t do it by myself, but it is done. Come on. I think you’re going to like it.” He tugs at my elbows while walking backward toward the house. I follow, if only to make sure he doesn’t run into anything.

Once we are both in the house, he drops his hands from my elbows and closes the door behind me. I stand in the entryway and take it all in.

It’s absolutely huge, which, given Brandon’s non-stop desire to spend his money on us, is not surprising. What is surprising, though, is how much it feels like home.

There is a long table against the wall of the entryway where he’s already set out a lamp and a bowl for our keys. Underneath, there’s a mat for shoes. Above us, from the vaulted ceiling, hangs a beautiful chandelier that casts a warm glow in the room. Ahead of me, I can see the edge of what looks like a massive, plushy sectional. Across from that is the kitchen island with a bowl of fruit and a tray of snacks that it seems the kids already found.

To my left is a dining room furnished with a long table that could easily seat ten people. There’s a tall cabinet with glass doors showcasing all the crystal glasses his mother bought us for our wedding.

Everything we brought from our home in New York has a place. It all looks like it has always been here. Like it was meant to be here.

I shift my gaze to Brandon, who is watching me, his hands in his pockets and his eyes wide in expectation. I realize then that my mouth is gaping. “Have you slept this week?” My voice is incredulous.

He chuckles and smooths a hand over the top of his hair. “A little.” He smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “I didn’t do it alone.”

“No way you and Daniel did all this. Did you hire people?” I look around the entryway again, my eyes catching on a framed painting hanging near the hallway.

“Mac and her friends helped, too.”

I take a few steps toward the painting, squinting at it a little. “Jenny and Ben?”

“Yeah,” he says, following me. “They just got engaged.”

That stops me in my path. I raise my eyebrows at Brandon. “That was fast. They only got together, what, three months ago?”

“When you know, you know.” His expression turns soulful, almost nostalgic. He regards me for another moment, then takes a deep, audible breath. “To hear him say it, it’s been almost ten years in the making.” He shrugs, then his eyes shift to the painting I had been looking at. He nods toward it. “I thought that would be a good thing for people to see as soon as they walk in.”

I step up to it and, as soon as I can see it through the glare of the chandelier, I gasp. It’s a painting of the New York skyline out of a window from the point of view of a bed. My window. My bed. I painted this while Brandon watched me during the week after we met. I wanted to immortalize the feeling I had lying in bed with him for a week—that feeling of being on the inside of something, looking out.

After I finished it, I had rolled it up and tossed it in my closet. We had been too busy exploring each other for me to care too much about it. Later, when Mason and I moved in with Brandon, I don’t remember packing it. I was so overwhelmed with being a new mom and planning our wedding that I hadn’t even thought about it.

“You were in the shower.” Brandon is standing directly behind me, and I don’t know when he moved so close, but the temptation to lean back into him is staggering. He doesn’t touch me, though. His voice is low and smooth. “I was over at your place, hanging out with baby Mason. Maybe a week or so after he was born? I brought you Pad Thai, from your favorite Thai place on First Ave. I don’t think you had ever been more grateful for a shower and a meal. It seemed wrong that you had to be grateful for those simple things. Mason spit up, so I went into the closet.” I can hear the smile in his voice at the memory. Only this man would be smiling about baby spit-up. “I saw it rolled up, exactly where you left it when you finished it. I thought it needed to see the light of day, so I took it. One thing led to another, and I didn’t get around to framing it until just before I came out here. But I thought the first piece of art people should see when they enter our home should be something you created.”