Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Lila
Ayear later, so much had changed.
The old house was sold, and Marcus and I had moved into the place on the five acres.
It was half an hour north, which was far enough from small-town whispers to consume us but close enough that I could still see my mom, friends, and commute to work.
We’d know the three-bedroom, cottage-style fixer-upper would be worn, but we hadn’t expected it to be a total redo.
But in hindsight, I was glad it was because it gave us the chance to build it the way we wanted and make it wholly our own.
Even after only being at the marketing firm for half a year, I’d been promoted and was in charge of leading small campaigns now and pitching concepts that actually got approved.
I came home most nights with sketches in my bag and stories about all the new ideas I had. And Marcus listened as if every detail mattered.
He had cut back on his hours, not just because we’d had so much work on the new house but because he wanted to be home with me every night when I got back.
We weren’t hiding anymore. No more being careful or sleeping in separate beds.
And although it would take time with my mom, we were slowly making progress.
It would take time, and I had as much as she needed.
My mom was very careful when she spoke with me for weeks. She worried aloud to me sometimes asking if I was sure. How I was doing and making sure I was still happy.
She didn’t fully approve. She didn’t have to. But she never turned away. She loved me enough to keep showing up even when it was hard.
The turning point came when we invited her and David to see our new place. She walked the property with me slowly, touching the rough bark of the oaks, looking out over the meadow we’d already started clearing for a garden.
Inside, she ran her fingers along the new countertops Marcus had installed, studied the photos we’d hung of us at the lake, laughing in the kitchen, and kissing on the porch.
My mom didn’t comment on the intimacy. She just watched us move together, the easy way we touched, and the intimate way we looked at each other.
“You really are happy,” she whispered, eyes shining.
“I am,” I told her.
Before she left, she hugged me long and tight. “Then I’m going to be okay with it. For you.”
I thought back to so many happy, but also hard times, and where I was now.
Everything worked out for a reason.
We spent the evening after dinner on the porch swing, wrapped in a blanket, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth.
“To taboo beginnings,” he said, taking a swig and passing it to me.
We drank, laughed, and kissed until the whiskey was gone and the night air turned cool. Then he carried me inside, laid me on the rug in front of the fireplace, and made love to me as if we had all the time in the world.
In the quiet after, tangled together on the rug, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back, he murmured against my hair, “Do you think we’ll ever tire of this?”
I smiled into his chest. “Not a chance.”
He chuckled. “Good. Because I’ve got plans. A garden. A dog. Maybe a kid or two someday. I want it all, Lila. With you.”
My heart squeezed. “I want all of that, too.”
We fell asleep like that, with the fire dying low, his arms around me, and the future stretching out wide and open.
It felt like the beginning of something unbreakable. And we were in it together.