transformed into stylish, understated Key West décor with a modern, tropical flair. The designer, Gage’s friend from Chicago, is turning out to be a genius. His name is Felix and he comes up with ideas I never would have thought of, which I suppose is his job, but he’s incredibly good at it.
We’ve closed the restaurant for six weeks while the refurbishments are being completed. I gave all my staff a paid, much-needed vacation. We’re planning to re-open on New Year’s Eve. The Tucker Brothers Band will play at the grand opening of Luna’s.
Gage took me to New Orleans for a week. We walked the streets hand in hand, listened to music, ate amazing food, went shopping, took a ride on a Mississippi riverboat and spent a lot of time in our swanky hotel room.
Gage takes me to a place of physical enlightenment that I think must be, in itself, a rare gift. There’s nothing he won’t do. He’s dirty as hell (in the best kind of way), exceptionally thorough and absolutely relentless. From that first confession, he tells me he loves me a hundred times a day.
On our last night in New Orleans, I said it back to him. My sweet, beautiful, arrogant bastard cried when I said it. We both cried. Then we laughed because his reply was, I don’t blame you. It would be hard not to love all this.
I talk to Josie every day and she’s settled into her routines in Iowa easily enough. She’s living in Owen’s main house while he renovates and lives in his barn. She’s been in touch with Noah every day since she got back and they talk for hours, sometimes late into the night. He’s planning to visit her the week before Christmas.
Gage invited me to spend Christmas with him, his brothers and his cousins. So it turns out we’ll be spending two days with the Tuckers in Nashville.
He took me to Chicago for a weekend, to see his penthouse apartment, his offices and his life. His former life, as he puts it. As soon as we got there, actual paparazzi were swarming around us, taking pictures. I hadn’t realized how famous he was in his hometown. And how much the people there—especially women—compete for his attention. Gage kept his arm around me the entire time. He wouldn’t let go of my hand. He kissed me in front of the crowds. If anything, he seemed more obsessed and crazed than usual while we were in Chicago, which I wasn’t quite expecting. If I needed proof that he loves me, he gave it to me that weekend in spades. Not that I really did. It’s another gift he’s given me: I believe him.
He’ll keep the apartment in Chicago available for us and run his companies remotely from Key West. It’s not that I didn’t like Chicago—I did, and it’ll be a fun place to spend time with him—but I’d miss the warm humidity and the Key West flavor in the air. The sand and the sun and the way my heart lifts as soon as I drive across the Seven Mile Bridge.
Gage says wherever I am is his home now.
With us, it got very intense very quickly, but there didn’t seem to be any reason to try to slow it down. We’ve been inseparable since the morning he broke into my apartment to confess his love for me. We only seem to get more addicted to each other with each passing hour.
He insists that we’re going to spend a month next summer at his lake house in Michigan. He has several but one of them is his favorite place in the world, he said. I’m excited to see it, and to spend time with him there.
My tiny, rustic apartment will stay mostly the same and will be the last thing to be renovated, once our new house is ready for us to move into. It’ll be turned into a cute and slightly more modern yoga studio and I’ve decided to teach a few classes when we reopen.
For now, I still do my practice each day. I have a new student. Or at least a very enthusiastic observer. He’s terrible at yoga. Mostly because he won’t concentrate.
“Stop that,” I tell him. “You’re distracting me.”
“You’re distracting me.”
This happens all the time.
I’m in child’s pose and he’s kneeling behind me, off his mat. “Get back on your mat,” I say.
“I like your mat better.”
He’s dressed in only a pair of shorts that aren’t even