Another nod.
“When do you break ground?”
“Next week. I want them to get the foundation done before the ground freezes. Once that’s done, they can do the framing and everything else over the winter. But, well, there are other things to consider.”
He swallows the distance between us in five large strides, joining me in the center of what will one day be a house.
“What are the other things?” I ask, my mouth going dry at the intensity in his expression as he stands tall over me.
“What the kitchen should be like. You know, since you and Stella like to cook so much. If we should have a second office. One for you. And then other things. Things like what you’ve always dreamed of having in your dream home.”
“You want to know the things I want in my dream home for yours?” My eyebrows hit my hairline.
He takes my hand, pulling it away from my trembling lips. “Yes. Because Stella and I are hoping that when it’s finished sometime in the late spring, you’ll move in with us. And then it won’t just be my dream home or Stella’s. It’ll be ours. All of ours.”
My breath catches. “What if I want a wraparound front porch?”
“Done.”
“And a four-season sunroom in the back that looks out into the woods beyond with a wood burning fireplace so we can watch the snow fall and stay extra cozy warm?”
He grins at that. “Also done.”
“Landon…”
“I mean it, Elle. I want this to be our home. I want this to be the start of us.”
“And I want a pool. And siblings,” Stella calls out to us as she continues to run and dance along the sticks. “A younger brother and possibly a younger sister, but I’m undecided on that last one.”
“You don’t get to decide what they are. You get what you get.”
“But Uncle Carter said that sometimes people can decide what gender they want their child to be.”
Landon groans, rolling his head over his shoulder and catching her eye. “If Elle and I ever try for a baby, I’d like us to do that the natural way, which means no choosing gender.”
“Ewwww!” she cries, covering her ears and closing her eyes. “Gross. TMI, Dad. Just ew.”
I laugh, sinking my teeth into my lip when Landon turns back to me.
“Are we going too fast for you?” His eyes beseech mine. “I know this is a lot to take in. But there’s no pressure, and the house won’t be done for about six or so months, and then you can dec—”
I cut off his rambling with a kiss. Climbing up on my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his. I kiss him so he knows I want this. I kiss him so he never doubts again that this is my dream too. A home with him and Stella. One day babies—boys or girls or both.
All of it.
“I want at least two kids. One day, but not yet. And I like the idea of my own office.”
He smiles against me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
In the next second, he’s sweeping me off my feet, swinging me through the air until we’re both breathless with laughter. He tugs me into his chest, his lips planted in my neck.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too. Today. Tomorrow. Always.”
EPILOGUE 2
Luca
Unedited and subject to change
The wood planks of the steps leading from our private beach up to our Martha’s Vineyard home dig into the soles of my bare feet. But it’s got nothing on my shoulder that’s twinging and kicking up like a bull at a rodeo. I’ve been so miserable since I got here, I hardly recognize my own reflection and the pain isn’t helping to improve my mood.
Neither is how weak I still feel.
They talked about this in med school.
Patients going into depression after a major injury or illness.
I have no illusions that’s what this is. I just never considered it would happen to me. On either of those accounts.
My shoes dangle from two fingers. My other hand brushes back the windswept strands of my chestnut hair that cling to my face. It’s too long, but finding the energy to do something about it isn’t high on my priority list. At least not until I can get the greenlight to go back to Minnesota.
Tonight was fun, though. Kinda monotonous, same old shit as it always is, but fun. My brothers and baby sister all flew out to the island, and I would be a fool to believe it wasn’t because I’m here for the foreseeable future. They’re worried about me. I’m worried about myself, and it shines through.
What will I do if I never fully recover? If I can’t go back? If I can’t continue and finish my residency?
If I can never operate again?
And as if fate enjoys the kick to my ass, my shirt sleeve catches on a random nail that’s sticking out of the wood railing and my shoulder jerks.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I rub over the barely healed scar, aggravated with just how tender the wound and the surrounding tissue still are. “Heal. I command you to heal.”
I snicker, a little buzzed and a lot annoyed that I’m still hurting despite the joint I smoked and the two strong drinks I nursed tonight. Carter stayed at the bar. So did Kaplan and Oliver. Landon didn’t even attempt it, having gone to bed likely when his nine-year-old princess Miss Stella—my favorite girl on the planet—sacked out for the night.
He doesn’t know how to leave her and that’s an entirely different matter.
So different from my reason for being banished to our parents’ estate on The Vineyard in the middle of my goddamn neurosurgery residency at The Mayo Clinic.
Which brings me back to my aching shoulder.
And the music I hear, a lulling distraction luring me away from the break in the path where it diverges between the main house and the pool, tennis courts, garages, and staff residences. For a moment, I freeze, unsure exactly what I’m hearing. A violin? Cello maybe?
But from where and from whom?
I amble toward the music, too depressed to go to bed with my thoughts and too bored to bother trying to fuck one of the local chicks.
Boring. So boring. It’s not even their fault. It’s purely mine.
But that sound. That achingly, mournful, exquisite sound.
It rattles my bones in the best of ways. It calls attention to my muscles, urging, begging them to follow it. To capture it. To listen more intently. I’ve never heard this song before—though far from a classical music expert. This feels more modern.
The sound leads me to the garage. All five bays are closed, but there is a light glowing through the upper windows and no matter how high I jump, I can’t quite make out who is there. Trying the side door, I find it unlocked and as quietly as possible, I turn the handle, slipping inside and shutting it behind me with a soft click.
The air in the garage is thick, heavy with humidity, and I roll my sleeves up to my elbows.
The music is coming from the other side of the garage, and I weave my way around the large Jeep, Tesla, and Mercedes convertible only to stop dead in my tracks for a second time, my breath stalling in my lungs at the sight before me.
Hot damn.
A woman is sitting on a folding chair, her black-as-night hair hanging over the back of it, her face flushed and tacky with sweat. From this angle, I’d swear the only thing she’s wearing is the large cello sitting between her spread thighs, but as I edge closer, I notice a paper-thin, gauzy white, flowy top that stops just below her ample breasts and matching tiny shorts.