Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(111)
But this? This is calm. Sitting in the sunshine with my best friends, catching smiles from the love of my life, and eating the most flavorful watermelon I’ve ever had.
* * *
—
Mildly sunburned, exhausted, and feeling the tiniest bit tipsy, I let Denver boost me into his truck and buckle my seat belt. Hopping into his seat, his right hand instantly finds mine in the center of the bench, and we pull away from the sun-soaked ranch. He insisted on showering at the bunk house before we left, and now heading down the long driveway, he rolls the windows down to get a breeze through his damp hair.
When he turns left—as if heading back to Wells Canyon—I look at him confused. For us, going for a drive has always meant heading farther into the middle of nowhere, not closer to civilization.
“Where are we going?”
“Just sit back and enjoy the drive. You’ll see it when we get there.”
Rolling my eyes, I do what he says, leaning my head against the back of the seat. Denver drives along the tree-lined dirt road, with classic country softly playing. Stretching my fingers, I stick a hand out the open passenger window and let it swim through the wind current. The other takes its natural place on his thigh.
The sun chases us down the mountain, threatening dusk. Then he turns onto my street, and I cackle. “The drive was a ride home?”
“Something like that.”
Denver
The sun’s barely hovering above the skyline when I pull into the driveway of a modest blue cottage. The blue cottage Blair didn’t shut up about any time I drove her home back in high school. Just down the street from where her parents live, it’s set back from the road in a heavily treed lot. But there’s no missing the blue siding, white front porch, and sunshine-yellow door.
And the confusion on Blair’s face kills me.
“Why are we at Mrs. Weaver’s house?”
“Figured you haven’t had a piano lesson with her in close to twenty-five years, and since your leg is busted up, you need something to do—other than eye-fuck me at work every day.”
“Funny guy.”
“C’mon, I’ll show you.” I pop open the glovebox and rummage around to find a key. “She gave me a key. In case you’re worried there’s some funny business going on. Nobody’s coming to arrest us for this.”
Her face remains scrunched, with confused wrinkles on the bridge of her nose, the entire time I help her out of the truck and up the porch steps. The key slips into the lock with ease and I swing open the door, careful to catch it before it hits the interior wall.
“Key or not, I’m still not convinced we aren’t breaking and entering.” She hesitantly steps inside, and I flip the light switches, walking ahead of her into the living room and lighting it up.
But the space is empty, and the harsh, cool ceiling light reverberates off the white walls and recently polished hardwood floor. Blair squints when she steps through the archway.
“Wait—is Mrs. Weaver moving?”
“Moved already, actually. Last week. Down to Florida because apparently she’s sick of the cold winters here, and they have some pretty bomb seniors’ communities. I was tempted to dye my hair gray and tag along. Maybe find me some cougars down there.”
“I bet you could find some really wonderful women in need of a pool boy.” She leans on a crutch and runs her hand through her hair. “So she gave you the keys to her empty house? Like an Airbnb situation…sans the furniture?”
God, she’s really not understanding where I’m going with this. She’s supposed to be the smart one here.
“Blair. I fucking love you, but sometimes…” I massage my temples. “She gave me the keys because I bought the house from her.”
“Um, no you didn’t.” She laughs under her breath.
I swing the key around on the end of my index finger, smiling at the adorable look she has painted across her face. “Well, it’s weird that they took a mortgage payment from my bank account last week, in that case.”
“Why did you buy a house in Wells Canyon when you already have a place to live at the ranch? Plus, like…endless space to build a house there, if you wanted.”
I drag my hand along the live-edge wood mantel. “I bought it because it’s close to your parents—so you can still help out with your mom whenever you need—and you didn’t shut up about how cute it was when we were younger, and I was also kind of hoping that eventually we might want to live together.”
“So you bought it…” Her voice trails off, her eyes flitting around the room, taking it in with a new appreciation.
“For you. Yeah, I did. I actually stopped in here to talk to Mrs. Weaver the same day I came over for dinner with your mom. Completely unsolicited, too. She’s an old softie, and ate up our entire love story like I was giving her a live reading of The Notebook. Turns out, she was already debating putting it on the market before winter, so it was meant to be.”
“Do you know how ridiculous it is that you bought a house for us to live in before we even went on a date?”
Ridiculous? Maybe. But the way she’s admiring the room with a hopeful glimmer makes me think it was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.
“I figured it would either turn out to be the most romantic thing I could possibly do, or it would be a great business decision. Even if we didn’t work out, eventually you’d get tired of living with your parents and discover that your dream home is available for rent. Either way, I figured my mom would approve of me using my inheritance from her as a down payment.”