Chapter 17
Kendall
Three months after the trial, I'm sitting across from Charli at The Greenhouse Café, watching her demolish a stack of pancakes while somehow maintaining perfect lipstick.
It's seven-thirty in the morning, and she's already put together like she's heading to a photo shoot instead of the kitchen at Hooplas.
"So," she says, pointing her fork at me, "are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?"
"What elephant?" I ask, taking a sip of coffee.
"The one where you and Jax have been living together for three months and there's no ring on that finger," she says bluntly.
I nearly choke on my coffee. "We just moved in together. Why would there be a ring?"
"Because you've been in love with each other since you were sixteen?" she suggests. "Because you lost ten years and aren't getting any younger? Because that man looks at you like you hung the moon?"
"It's complicated," I say, pushing my eggs around my plate.
"No, it's not," Charli counters. "You love him. He loves you. What's complicated about that?"
"We're still figuring things out," I tell her. "Learning how to be together again."
"Bull," she says. "You're scared."
I look up at her, ready to argue, but she's right. She's always right when it comes to reading me.
"Maybe I am," I admit quietly.
"Of what?" she asks, her voice gentler now.
"Of rushing things. Of ruining it. Of..." I pause, trying to find the right words. "Of wanting it too much."
Charli reaches across the table and takes my hand. "Kendall, honey, you can't want love too much. That's not how it works."
"Isn't it?" I ask. "What if we get engaged and then realize we moved too fast? What if we're trying so hard to make up for lost time that we're forcing something?"
"Are you forcing it?" she asks.
"No," I say immediately. "Being with him feels like the most natural thing in the world."
"Then what's the problem?"
I'm quiet for a moment, watching the boats in the marina through the window. "Sometimes I catch him looking at jewelry store windows when we walk past. He thinks he's being subtle, but he's not."
"And?" Charli prompts.
"And it makes me happy and terrified at the same time," I confess. "Like, what if he proposes? What if he doesn't? What if I'm reading too much into window shopping?"
"Have you talked to him about it?" she asks.
"About marriage?" I shake my head. "We've talked about the future in abstract terms. Kids someday, buying a house eventually. But not... specifics."
"Why not?"
"Because talking about it makes it real," I say. "And real things can break."
Charli sighs. "You and your rules. I thought you were past all that."
"I am. Mostly. But old habits die hard." I take a bite of toast, needing something to do with my hands. "What if he's not ready? What if I bring it up and he thinks I'm pushing?"
"Or what if he's waiting for a sign from you that you're ready?" Charli counters. "Men are simple creatures, Kendall. Sometimes they need clear signals."
"I live with him. How much clearer can the signal be?"
"Living together and wanting to marry someone are different things," she says. "Trust me, I dated plenty of guys I'd live with but never marry."
"Sawyer proposed after six months," I point out.
"Sawyer knew what he wanted and went after it," she says. "But he also knew I was ready because I told him I was."
"You told him you wanted to get married?"
"I told him I could see a future with him. The whole future—marriage, kids, arguing about where to retire. Once he knew I was all in, the ring appeared pretty quickly."
I think about this, stirring my coffee absentmindedly. "I don't know how to have that conversation."
"Sure you do," Charli says. "You just open your mouth and say words."
"Very helpful," I mutter.
"Look," she says, leaning forward. "You've already wasted ten years. Do you really want to waste more time being afraid to talk about what you both clearly want?"
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with a text from Michael, my assistant property manager.
Michael: Small crisis at Building 2. Nothing major but need your input.
"Work?" Charli asks, seeing my expression.
"Always," I confirm. "But it can wait five minutes."
"No, it can't," she says, knowing me too well. "You're already mentally solving whatever the problem is. Go. But think about what I said."
"I will," I promise, standing and throwing money on the table.
"Kendall?" she calls as I'm leaving. "He loves you. Like, stupidly, obviously, embarrassingly in love with you. Whatever you decide, whatever timeline you want, he'll wait. But maybe... maybe don't make him wait too long?"
I nod, not trusting my voice, and head out into the morning sun.
The crisis at Building 2 turns out to be a minor plumbing issue that Michael actually handles fine on his own. I spend the rest of the morning at Building 3's construction site, meeting with the architects about the final phase of rebuilding.
"The community room is coming along beautifully," Patricia Wong, the lead architect, tells me as we walk through the framed space. "The residents' input really shaped this design."
"They wanted a place to gather," I say, running my hand along a beam. "Somewhere that felt like home for everyone, not just their individual units."
"Well, they're getting it," Patricia says. "Plus the enhanced safety features you requested."
I'm reviewing the plans when I hear familiar voices. The Walking Ladies have arrived, and they're carrying what appear to be several dozen cookies in Tupperware containers.
"We're here for the bake sale!" Gladys announces.
"The bake sale is tomorrow," I remind her.
"We're pre-selling," Florence explains. "Early bird special."
"You can't pre-sell cookies," I say, but I'm smiling.
"Watch us," Betty says, already approaching the construction workers. "Young man! You look hungry!"
Within ten minutes, they've sold forty dollars’ worth of cookies to the construction crew. The cookies are questionably edible—I can see one worker discreetly spitting his into a napkin—but everyone buys them, anyway.
"All proceeds go to the Building 3 community room fund," Joan tells anyone who'll listen. "We're buying a big-screen TV for movie nights."
"The insurance is covering furnishings," I tell them.
"Then we're buying a better TV for movie nights," Gladys says firmly. "One of those fancy ones that connects to the interweb thingies."
I don't have the heart to tell them that all TVs do that now.
My phone rings. It's Jax.
"Hey," I answer. "How's your day?"
"Good," he says. "Quick question—can you meet me for lunch? There's something I want to talk about."
My heart skips. Is this it? Is he going to bring up marriage? "Um, sure. Where?"
"That sandwich place you like? Noon?"
"I'll be there," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
I spend the next hour completely distracted, Charli's words echoing in my head. Should I bring it up first? Should I wait to see what he wants to talk about?
When I arrive at the sandwich shop, Jax is already there, sitting at a corner table looking nervous. My heart rate doubles.
"Hey," he says, standing to kiss me. "Thanks for coming."
"Of course," I say, sitting down. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's fine," he says quickly. "I just... I wanted to talk to you about something."
"Okay," I say, my mouth suddenly dry.
"So, Hudson mentioned something interesting," he starts. "His mom is selling her house. The one on Oak Street with the big yard?"
I blink. This is not what I expected. "Oh?"
"It's a magnificent house," he continues. "Three bedrooms, two baths, that enormous oak tree in the back you always loved. And it's in our price range if we combine our savings."
"You want to buy a house?" I ask.
"I want to buy a house with you," he corrects. "Our house. Not your apartment with my stuff or my place with yours, but ours."
"That's a big step," I say carefully.
"Is it?" he asks. "Bigger than moving in together? Than rebuilding your life after someone tried to burn it down?"
"No," I admit. "It's just... permanent."
"Is that bad?" He looks genuinely confused. "I thought we were permanent."
"We are," I say quickly. "I just wasn't expecting house shopping today."
"We don't have to decide today," he says. "But Hudson's mom is giving us first shot before she lists it. I thought we could at least look?"
I study his face, seeing the hope there mixed with uncertainty. "You really want to buy a house together?"
"I want to build a life together," he says simply. "A house is just part of that."
"What other parts?" I ask, thinking of Charli's advice to just say words.
"All the parts," he says. "The house, the questionably decorated rooms because we can't agree on furniture—"
"Your neon sign is not going in our house," I interrupt.
"—the garden you'll try to maintain but probably kill, the dog we'll eventually get, the kids who'll destroy everything we buy for the first five years."
"Kids," I repeat.
"Eventually," he says carefully. "If you want."
"I want," I say softly. "Eventually."
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "So? Want to look at a house with me?"
I think about Charli's question this morning, about jewelry store windows and waiting for signs. Maybe this is his way of showing me he's all in—not with a ring, not yet, but with something just as permanent.
"Yes," I say. "Let's look at the house."
His smile could power the entire town. "Really?"
"Really. But I need to ask you something," I say, gathering my courage.
"Anything."
"Where do you see us in a year?"
He looks surprised by the question but thinks about it seriously. "In our house. Arguing about where to put the Christmas tree. Hosting terrible dinner parties where you burn the main course. Planning a wedding maybe, if you're ready for that."
My heart stops. "A wedding?"
"Eventually," he says, watching my face carefully. "When you're ready. If you want that."
"I want that," I say, the words tumbling out. "Not today or tomorrow, but yes. I want that. With you."
His hand tightens on mine. "Good to know," he says, and there's something in his eyes that makes me think he's already got a plan.
We eat lunch talking about the house—the yard that's perfect for a dog, the spare room that could be an office or eventually a nursery, the kitchen I'll definitely destroy attempting to cook. It feels like a conversation we should have had years ago but are finally ready for now.
After lunch, we drive to Oak Street. The house is everything Jax described—a two-story Craftsman with a wraparound porch and that massive oak tree I used to climb when we were kids. Hudson's mom is there to let us in.
"Kendall! Jax! I'm so glad you're interested," she says, hugging us both. "This place needs a young family."
"We're not—I mean, we don't have—" I stammer.
"Yet," she says with a wink. "But this house has good energy for new beginnings."
She shows us through, and I can see our life here. Jax's baseball memorabilia in the den, my books in the built-in shelves, dinner parties in the dining room with our friends. The master bedroom has huge windows that overlook the backyard, and I can imagine waking up here every morning next to him.
"The guest room would make a great nursery," Mrs. Taylor says casually, and I see Jax's ears turn red.
"We're not—"
"Yet," Mrs. Taylor repeats with a laugh. "I know, I know. But Hudson mentioned you're settling down, and I just assumed..."
"We're taking things one step at a time," Jax says diplomatically.
"Smart," she agrees. "Though at my age, I've learned that sometimes you just know when something's right."
After she leaves us to explore on our own, Jax and I stand in what would be our bedroom, looking out at the yard.
"We could be happy here," he says quietly.
"We could," I agree, leaning against him.
"Is it too fast?" he asks. "The house? Everything?"
I think about Charli's words, about wasted time and clear signals. "No. It's exactly right."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I turn to face him. "I want all of it, Jax. The house, the bad dinner parties, the dog, the kids. The wedding. All of it."
He cups my face in his hands. "You sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything," I tell him.
He kisses me then, right there in the empty room that might be ours, and I feel like I'm finally home. Not because of the house, but because wherever Jax is feels like home now.
"Should we make an offer?" he asks when we break apart.
"Let's do it," I say.
As we stand here planning our future in this empty house, I realize that sometimes the best things happen when you stop being afraid and just say what you want. It took us ten years to learn that lesson, but maybe that makes it even more precious now.
My phone buzzes with a text from Charli.
Charli: So? Did you talk?
Me: We're buying a house.
Charli: WHAT?! That's not what I meant by talk!
Me: And he mentioned planning a wedding.
Charli: NOW WE'RE TALKING! Details immediately!
I silece my phone, not ready to share this moment with anyone else yet. There will be time for squealing with the Bad News Babes later. Right now, I just want to stand here with Jax, imagining our future in this house, finally believing we get to have one.