A Sweet Mess - Jayci Lee Page 0,73

a break.”

“But…”

“No buts. Besides, I have somewhere to take you.”

“Now? Where?”

“Yes, now. It’s a surprise.”

Aubrey squinted at him for a second. “Well, it had better be a really awesome surprise.”

The schoolhouse was finally finished, and Landon wanted Aubrey to see it before the place was overrun by the crew and their equipment. He didn’t stop to think why he wanted to show her the house. Or why he wanted to see her reaction.

He hadn’t lived fully since his old man’s disappearance. His dream had dangled in front of him, temptingly within reach. All he had to do was claim it. But Landon had walked away to take care of his family, the one his father had abandoned. That selfish bastard. Landon swore never to put his dreams before his mom’s and brother’s well-being. He refused to be like him.

He didn’t resent his mom or Seth. It was his decision. His pain to bear. And he’d borne it by being a spectator in his own life. His brand and his reputation had dictated his choices. He hadn’t owned a home or a car for the last decade. He chose to be a stranger passing through wherever he went. He didn’t dream—he didn’t want—and it had made him invincible.

But Aubrey had shifted something in him. Suddenly, he wanted. He reached for her every night, time and again, and made love to her like a man starved. Now that he finally had her, he wanted her to be his—only his—for as long as she would have him. He swallowed the fear that rose in his throat and pushed aside the thought of losing her.

When he saw the finished schoolhouse, it beckoned him. It whispered to him. Home. He’d convinced himself that Aubrey had nothing to do with it. That he’d grown tired of his nomadic life. But whenever he imagined home, Aubrey was in it—in the kitchen, in the courtyard, in his bed.

“Oh,” Aubrey whispered reverently. “It does look like house in Little House on the Prairie.”

“Little House on the Prairie?”

“Yeah. That’s what I imagined the schoolhouse would look like when you first told me about it.”

“Do you like it?” He held his breath.

“It’s perfect.” She sighed. “It feels like a place where children should run amok, driving their parents crazy. But a happy crazy.”

“You haven’t even seen the inside yet.” Landon played it cool even though his face was twitching to explode into a Howdy Doody grin.

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

Aubrey floated through the house as though she were in a trance, her fingertips tracing the walls, the doors, the furniture. The comforts of modern innovation had been incorporated seamlessly into the century-old schoolhouse, and its charming rustic vibe hummed uninterrupted throughout. He watched her face, wondering if she sensed it, too.

“Landon, this place is amazing.” She sounded breathless.

He caught her hand and led her to the big open kitchen with high-end appliances hidden behind country-white panels mimicking the abundant cabinets. It was beautiful, but most of all, it was functional. It was a kitchen made for cooking.

In a house of their own, the kitchen would be the center of life. They would bake and cook together every evening and trade stories about their day. And they would laugh. There would be so much laughter and happiness.

“I don’t think I want to share it with the rest of the world yet.” Aubrey placed a gentle hand on the gray granite countertop, as though she wanted to shield it from the prying eyes.

She feels it, too.

“Should we break it in before anyone sees it?” Landon’s heart pounded in a wild, deafening rhythm.

“I’d love to.” Aubrey clapped her hands together. “What should we make?”

“I wasn’t talking about cooking.” He rounded the island with steady, deliberate steps.

“What?” Her lashes fluttered against her flushed cheeks. “I don’t think…”

“Don’t think.” Landon was already past rational thought.

Aubrey retreated a step but stopped when her back came up against the island. Landon reached her in two steps and placed his hands on either side of her. She squeaked and stared up at him with wide eyes. He bent toward her, chuckling against the side of her neck.

“Did I ever tell you you’re irresistible when you get flustered?” He loved the color of her skin—warm and intimate—blossoming just for him. He brushed featherlight kisses from her neck to her shoulders, tugging aside her shirt to expose their delicate curve. “If I were a painter, I’d work day and night to blend the exact color of your blush.”

“Why, Mr. Kim.”