Epilogue
Charlie
Icouldn't believe our first flip house was finally done. It took five months and more money than we'd planned to spend, but it was a masterpiece. I almost didn't want to sell it.
Lucas and I had fallen in love in this house.
I'd thought we'd fallen in love at my house, while we were pretending we were fuck buddies and he'd helped me strip paint. And we had.
That was where we took those first, hesitant steps toward each other, where we'd realized what we had was so much more than just sex.
But here, in this mess of a rehab we'd bought together, this was where we really fell in love. Not that first flush of fire and heart.
The day to day kind of love.
The kind that lasts.
This house was where I discovered that we were both demons for a schedule, were obsessed with spreadsheets, and went a little crazy when materials were delayed. Where I'd learned that he could function on almost no sleep, but he discovered the same turned me into a cranky monster.
We'd figured out so many things in the past five months. Lucas was neat. Me, not so much. He didn't mind my being messy, as long as I put away our tools and didn't leave food sitting in the sink. I could handle that. My mess was mostly of the clothes on the floor variety.
I found out that he hated doing laundry and had about eight thousand pairs of cargo pants and an equal number of black t-shirts so he could avoid running out and didn't have to go shopping. Needless to say, I took over washing our clothes.
Lucas still had his place next door, but he'd pretty much moved in with me over the past few months. At first, he'd moved me in with him while my contractors finished the upstairs and the floors at my place. The work was scheduled to take two months but ended up taking three.
That was the only delay we didn't mind. By the time the schedule got pushed back, we'd closed on the mid-century modern and had our hands full.
Lucas was working at Sinclair Security, leading a team of IT specialists who also handled field work.
I wasn't exactly sure what that meant. Lucas said I didn't need to know the details, but that it was mostly not-dangerous.
I was focused on 'not-dangerous' and ignoring 'mostly'.
He loved it, and that was all I cared about.
He worked on the flip house with me after hours, leading to a lot of late nights, picnic dinners on a tarp, and sometimes, spontaneous nakedness.
I was taking real estate classes during the day along with managing the renovation, and I was thinking about studying for my contractor's license, though I'd heard the test was a bitch.
Maybe not this year, but it was on my list.
Everything had come together so easily. Even moving into my house. Once the upstairs was finished and the floors were done, there wasn't much left other than some details on the outside.
I loved Lucas's place. It was gorgeous and comfortable and it reminded me of him. But my house had been my dream since the first moment I'd seen it. I wanted to live there and nowhere else. But only if Lucas was with me.
As with everything, once we'd finally untangled our fears from our hearts, Lucas made it easy for me. We'd been examining the final touches in the master suite, the blue-grey walls and crisp white trim, when he said, "Do you want new furniture? Or should we just move my stuff in?"
I thought about it, stunned by his offer. He'd renovated his own home from the studs out and I knew he was attached to it. We hadn't talked about what we'd do when mine was finished.
Life had been so good, I hadn't wanted to bring up anything that might cause tension. I should have known Lucas wouldn't let that happen.
"Are you sure?" I asked. He'd pulled me into his arms and kissed me.
When he was done and my knees were weak, he'd said, "I'm sure. You just have to decide about the furniture."
That part was easy. I loved his bed. The dark walnut would look gorgeous against the cool tones of the paint and the white trim.
"Let's move your stuff over," I said. "Your bedroom set will fit in here and we can put the TV and couches in the living room for now."
So we had. Lucas must have wanted to be in my house as much as I did because he had movers scheduled for the next day. Before I knew it, we were really and truly living together.
Quietly, without making a big deal about it, he suggested he put his house on the market. I'd agreed. It sold within a month, and a month after that, we had a sweet family living next door.
Life was just about perfect.
I had Lucas. I was putting together a career I loved. The only cloud in the sky was Gage. He was still MIA, and Lucas's guy hadn't had any good news since he'd first confirmed Gage was alive.
A truck pulled into the driveway beside mine. Lucas, off work early, here to go over the final details on the house before it hit the market. I didn't try to stop the giddy grin that spread across my face at the sight of him.
He unfolded his tall frame from his truck and headed up the driveway, stopping for only a second to send my truck a smug, appraising look as he walked past it.
Did I mention that he bought me a new truck?
I argued for about a minute when he brought it home. It was smaller than his but nicer, with leather, navigation, an upgraded sound system—all the good stuff. He'd driven it home one day and handed me the keys with a long look that ordered me not to say a word.
I tried to tell him to take it back. Lucas was having none of it.
He interrupted me with a kiss—Lucas's preferred method of getting me to shut up—and when I was dizzy from his mouth on mine, he said, "Princess, just take the keys and let it go.
I hate that thing you're driving. I know you think it's good enough for you.
But I don't. Every time I look at it, I want to push it over a cliff. "
I'd sighed and taken the keys. I might have argued—I really didn't mind the old truck—but I knew it reminded Lucas of that miserable week we'd been broken up. Every time he saw it, he turned away.
I'd shoved the keys to my new truck in my pocket and said teasingly, "Okay, but if you think you can solve all of your problems by throwing money at them . . ."
Lucas had growled, "Brat," and dragged me to my new truck, where he proceeded to show me how comfortable the rear bench seat was. Needless to say, we both had very good memories of the day Lucas gave me that truck.
Sophie's car had broken down a few weeks before, and I'd very happily lent her my old truck, glad to have an excuse to get it away from Lucas and help Sophie out at the same time.
I watched him as he made his way up the steep driveway, my eyes eating up his long stride. I never got tired of looking at Lucas Jackson. He hadn't changed in the slightest since going to work for Sinclair Security.
He still dressed like a commando, in his worn cargoes and tight black t-shirts, unless he had work in the field that required a suit, or my secret favorite, a tux. There was still nothing in the universe as hot as Lucas in a tuxedo.
My eyes fixed on the flex of his thighs as he walked. I almost missed the box he held in his arms. He climbed the steps to the front door and set the box on the stoop beside him.
"What's that?" I asked.
Lucas dipped his head for a kiss.
I forgot about the box.
You'd think that with all the sex we had, I'd be bored by now.
Not a chance.
I'd come so close to losing him. That would never happen again, but I knew better than anyone that the good things in life were meant to be savored. And Lucas's kisses were the best.
I fell into him, sliding my arms around his back and tugging up his shirt to press my palms to the warm, silky skin beneath. Lucas shuffled me backward, turning me until my back hit the side of the house.
Against my neck, he said, "I've been in fucking meetings all day, and all I could think about was this."
He tugged at the neck of my blouse, revealing the navy lace bra I'd put on that morning. I'd gone straight from real estate class to meeting the broker who would list the house, so for once, I was dressed up as opposed to wearing the beat-up jeans and shirts I sacrificed to renovation work.
Though the matching lace bra and thong under my suit weren't for business. They were for Lucas.
Deftly, he unfastened the first two buttons and slipped his hand inside my shirt to cup my breast. I vaguely recalled that we were on the front stoop of the house. With Lucas's height and broad frame, he could easily shield me from prying eyes, but not if he stripped me naked.
With obvious reluctance, he withdrew his hand and said, "Let's go inside. I want another walkthrough. What did the broker say?"
I followed him down the hall, into the open space that held the kitchen, great room, and dining room. We'd done an amazing job with the place, in my not-so-humble opinion. Once the foundation had been repaired, almost all of the interior detailing had to go. It had been a lot of work. A ton.
Now, it was a jewel, the ideal example of mid-century modern design, with floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows, bamboo floors, soaring ceilings, and a modern aesthetic. Buyers were going to love it and we'd make a killing.
"She was in line with our estimates on price. We should have the first open house next weekend," I said, watching as he set the mysterious box on the sleek stainless steel of the kitchen island.
"Sounds good. Any news on the offer?"
We'd put in an offer the week before on an arts and crafts bungalow that was part of an estate. I thought we'd end up getting it, but the broker had to talk to all of the heirs to the property, which was taking longer than we'd expected.
"Not yet." My curiosity getting the best of me, I pulled the box toward me and opened it. Looking inside, I asked, "Is this what I think it is?"
A bottle of Macallan scotch sat in the box, nestled in a pile of work rags. Pulling it out, I studied the label. I knew this bottle.