Chapter 32
Lana
It’s almost lunch time in Books and Beans on a Thursday, so I wipe the tables while we are still in the calm before the storm. It’s usually after the lunch time rush when Christian brings me lunch and we sit at a table in the corner, happy and alone.
Sometimes he makes sandwiches or brings in food from Rowan’s restaurant. Sometimes he comes in after the gym with shakes or some balanced meal I’m learning (trying) to love.
The bell of the cafe’s door jingles as it opens and our first lunch rush customers come in. Behind the counter, Michelle and Elias take care of the customers and all the others that follow only a minute later.
I’m acclimated to the sound of the bells, kind of like Pavlov’s dog.
Each jingle is a reward toward my business.
The bell jingles thrice before the door completely shuts.
But on the fourth ring, it’s Christian who enters—out of breath, hair disheveled, and with a streak of pale yellow paint on his tan forearm.
“Christian?” My brows furrow tight and my heart picks up. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“What?” he pants. “Oh. Nothing. I’m picking you up.”
I exhale. “Don’t scare me like that.”
He pecks my cheek with a kiss and takes my hand in his, interlocking our fingers. “Come, I need to show you something.”
“Christian, wait, I—”
I look over my shoulder and see Michelle behind the counter smiling, giving me two thumbs up. “We got you covered, boss!”
“See?” Christian quips. “Covered.”
I toss the rag in my hand on a table along with the small apron around my waist, and Christian hauls me out the shop. “Christian, wait!”
We stop at his car and he opens the door for me to slip in. I’m giggling as I fall into the leather seat. Christian slips into his driver's seat, the door slamming shut as the engine roars to life, and he has the most adorable, boyish grin on his handsome face.
“Seatbelt,” he breathes, buckling his own.
It seems I am moving too slowly because he reaches over and grabs my seatbelt. “Christian,” I laugh. “What are you doing?”
“Buckling you in.” He tugs at the seatbelt to ensure it is secure before he puts the car in drive, checks his mirror, and drives out of the spot.
“Babe, are you okay?” I ask and put my hand on his bouncing knee.
“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”
I snort and squeeze his thigh. “Okay then.”
“No, leave your hand,” he says when I begin to take back my hand. “I need it.”
I press my hand into his thigh firmly. Christian remains jittery as we pass our road, then our house, and he is driving toward the Willow Springs lake.
The further we go, I ask, “Where are we going?”
Christian flicks on the signal before he goes right at the next stop sign, using the heel of his hand to slowly turn the steering wheel.
He takes one more left turn, the road curving until I’m daydreaming out the window, admiring the beautiful lake houses and mansions.
I sit up straighter as he presses on the break, the McLaren slowing as he turns into the expansive driveway of one of the few mansions.
He puts the park in front of two garages—one bigger and the other smaller.
“What is this?” I gape at the house. I’ve driven through this part of town, fantasizing about owning one of these, but something about seeing it up close sets butterflies loose from their cages.
“Do you think it’s nice?”
I turn to gape at Christian. “It’s gorgeous.”
A silly little smirk takes ownership of his lips. “Want to see the rest of it?”
Before I can question the why, how, or what, Christian is out of the car and coming around to open mine. I only managed on foot out the door but before Christian hauls my body out of the passenger seat and carries me at his side.
“I can walk,” I laugh and he sets me down. I tug at the hem of my shirt and admire the lavish entrance of this home. The expansive door and windows. The spacious patio with outdoor furniture that hangs from the ceiling above—front a balcony. “Christian…”
Christian stands before me, smiling—the rays of the sun forming a celestial glow around his body. The love of my life holds out his hand, waiting for mine to fit against his. “Come home with me.”
My mouth finally closes and takes the shape of a smile—hard enough for me to feel my dimples. With the August sun burning my skin and the angel looking right through me, I slip my hand in his.
At the front door, he pulls a key from the front pocket of his jeans and fits it into the door.
He pushes the smooth, brown door open and steps in before me, holding it open and waving me in.
Cautiously, I step into the foyer of the bright home, light coming in from every direction—even from above—and I squeeze his hand.
Please let this be real.
“The windows are my favorite part,” Christian says. I tilt my head back to see a skylight above us in the high, high ceiling of the foyer. “One of my favorite parts.”
I take in the rest of the entrance, the U-shaped stairs to the left that turn right up to the second floor of the house, then down to what I think is a basement. To my right is a special corner with a bench and hooks, and a specific place for shoes.
“Come.” This home is so beautiful I feel terrible for not taking off my shoes as Christian pulls me along to a spacious family room—one of the walls being entirely made of windows and a glass door that opens to the patio.
“This would be more for serious guests, I think,” he says as I run my fingers over the fabric of the minimalist sofa. “The TV is in the living room.”
I follow him out and he leads me through every single space of the first floor. The only room on this floor is the one I am stepping into and it’s…
“Oh my god,” I breathe. Walls covered with floor to ceiling bookcases, all a pastel yellow.
Two large windows with the view of the lake and sky.
A loveseat that I assume is for me and a desk with a Mac perched on it that I assume is for him.
I smile to myself—what a perfect excuse to be near each other while he’s working.
Christian’s arms come around me and his chest presses against my back. “When we finally move in, I’ll help you fill the shelves however you want.”
He pulls my hair behind my shoulder and kisses the back of it.
“This is… I don’t even know…”
“There’s more,” he says in my ear and takes my hand.
Seconds later, I walk into the kitchen, breathless.
“I’m thinking about taking my position more seriously,” he says, strolling in behind me as I take in the kitchen.
It’s indescribably beautiful. Windows everywhere, marble countertops, electric stove, and a deep sink. My fingers brush along the pristine, white marble and I round the island that also has a dishwasher. Four stools in pale yellow are set on the opposite side—meant for our family of four.
For the hell of it, I stop at the sink and turn on the tap. I watch the water rush out and chuckle to myself. I close the tap and run my hands over the shiny new electric stove top.
And the window. Oh my god, the window. It pushes out when I press against it, opening to the back where the blue pool is—long and wide. The outdoor furniture is wonderfully laid out with an outdoor dining table large enough for our friends to join in the summers.
The library. The pool. The patio and porch. The driveway. The sink and electric stove. The fireplace, the large TV above, and the couch in front of it. I’ve officially been rendered speechless.
“I can remain CEO,” Christian continues, “and I’ll have some help.
I round the island and go to where he sits in one of the stools. “Christian—”
“I could go to New York once a month. Twice only if you come with me. I can make myself an office in our new house. Or I could sell the entire company.”
“I thought you wanted to sell it because you didn’t like it.”
“It’s not so bad.” He shrugs. “I think I was just…angry.”
“You just like the expensive shoes,” I tease.
“Maybe. But I’ve also done this…” He slides a piece of paper toward me and taps his fingers on it once.
“What is this?” I pick it up with shaky hands and see his name on the paper with mine beside it.
“Read the whole thing.”
My eyes carefully read each word on the white sheet. Until I reach the bottom. I gasp. “Christian… What—What is this? What does it mean?”
I release the paper and it flies slowly onto the island. The painted words have turned into blurs of black ink, and I cannot begin to process everything that Christian has shown me today.
“It’s a trust fund for our kids.”
“How do you have this much money?”
“It’s a billion dollar company, Lana.”
“How many kids do you think we’re going to have?!”
He chuckles, his hand wrapping around my rib cage. “It doesn’t matter, at least they’ll be okay. They can go to college and they won’t have to be in debt like us, baby.”
“This is too much money,” I choke.
“It’s not.”
“Have you seen the zeros on this thing?”
“I wrote it.”
I glare at him. “Christian.”
He chuckles and pulls me in between his legs. “This is our house, Lana. All of it,” he says. “I bought it for you.”
I sniffle. “No, you bought it for us. Our family.”
“Do you like it?” Christian asks stupidly. “If the furniture isn’t right, I can try to return—”
“No,” I snap breathlessly. “No, it’s perfect—it’s beautiful. I… Christian, I don’t know what to say…”
“Tell me you’ll move in,” he chuckles. “Tell me you’ll sell your house and live with me in this one—our house.”
“I…” I swallow and blink to let the tears fall away so I can see him clearly. “Yes.”
Christian beams. “Yes?”
I nod, a sob breaking its way out of me. “Yes.”
His hands are on my cheeks and his lips are on mine in an instant.
I taste the salt of tears on his lips, and I don’t know if it is only mine or if it’s a mixture of ours, but it doesn’t matter because I am kissing him in a house he bought for us and our future.
He bought the house we could only dream of four years ago.
Christian is kissing me in our house and I feel what it means to live. To love with so much of your soul that it is split into two. I have half of his, and he has half of mine—an even trade of ourselves.
“I have one more thing,” he breathes against my lips. Between our chests, he holds up a thick, black Sharpie.
“What is it?”
He releases me to round the island so I take a seat on the empty stool.
I watch as he opens a cabinet and pulls out a giant, Mason jar.
Much, much bigger than the cracked, sixteen ounce one we stuffed what we could into.
This one is at least a sixty-four ounce jar and his hand wraps around it like it’s the tinier one.
Christian pulls out the stool beside me and sets the jar down in front of me, the sharpie beside it. “We no longer need a house jar,” he says, pride flashing in his bright brown eyes. “But this one is for the sunflowers I buy you every week. This jar is just for you.”
“But—”
“You aren’t my sunflower,” he says. “You’re the sun, and I’m the sunflower following whatever direction you tell me to go in. I’m the sunflower always searching for you and always wanting to be in your light, baby. You are the sun.”
My lip trembles and I press my hand into his stubbled cheek. “But you’re my sun too,” I croak. “My light.”
Christian turns and kisses the center of my palm. I hold him with my hand curved at his nape and he hands me the sharpie. “Write it, Lana.”
I smile at the black sharpie, then at him, and I take it. The cap snaps onto the bottom of the marker and I grab the jar, steadying it on my lap as I write.
Before I unveil it, I cap the marker and set it aside. Then I show him.
Sunflower Jar.
From behind him, he pulls out our old jar and sets it down beside our new jar. He pushes them into the center of the island and they are the two best centerpieces the world will ever see.
I’m astonished at the masterpiece of the image. A new jar to be filled with bright sunflowers, and the older one filled with accomplishments. Both represent our loyalty and love and adoration. Our devotion. And I’ve never been more privileged to love someone or anything my entire life.
All of this because of a silly, cracked jar with stained glass.
I don’t think I have ever felt the true weight of the word love until this very moment. Not in this capacity, at least. I have been in love with this man beside me for nearly a decade, and I can’t remember a time I wasn’t—even when he was gone.
Love isn’t a strong enough word anymore. Not for this.
My eyes narrow in on the chips in his jar. “I’m so proud of you,” I breathe and rest my head on his shoulder. “You did it.”
His lips press to the top of my head. “I couldn’t have done any of it—anything without you.”
“I love you.”
“I know,” he says. “It’s what made me a better person.”
I huff a laugh.
“And loving you has been the greatest experience of my life,” Christian whispers.
“Forever.”
“Forever,” he reaffirms. “Now, come on. You’re going to love our bedroom.”