She giggled. “I haven’t done dishes or my own laundry in four years. I used the hotel services.”
My eyebrows crept up my forehead. “Four years?”
“Yup, so I’m still pretty sure I’m the lucky one. I’m just a damsel who has no idea how to do housework. Still want me to move in?”
“Hell yes. I’ll be the domestic one. I’ll bring you beers while you watch sports on the TV.”
She gripped the front of my shirt. “I love when you talk dirty to me.”
“Then you’re going to love how I talk to my dishes.”
She threw her head back and laughed and I reveled in the sound I intended to hear every day for the rest of my life.
Epilogue
Katie
One Month Later
The sweet tea made the ice cubes in our cups pop and crack when I poured it. I dropped two lemon slices into each cup, gave them a quick stir, and put the pitcher back in the fridge before I carried the cups out the back screen door and onto the deck where Peter was working.
My man put the handy in handyman.
He’d been working tirelessly over the past month to make our little homestead into an oasis of the likes I’d only ever dreamed of.
I’d been living there with him for a total of one month and it had been a month of bliss. Sure, we bickered over things, like who got to control the remote for the TV when we watched sitcoms or when we gave each other hell for leaving toothpaste in the sink.
That was my bad.
But the bickering always led to laughter. I realized early on that was the foundation of our relationship and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I cleared my throat to let Peter know I was there.
He was on all fours, hammering pieces of wood down to the foundation of a new back deck he’d built all on his own. It would be done by the end of the weekend, and next weekend, we were going to break it in properly with a barbeque and drinks with Roman, Ginny, and Mike, who’d come to the island last week to see what all the fuss was about.
Rumor had it he was considering moving here, too.
Peter was all over the idea. He wanted his brother in his life again, and ever since their father’s passing, Mike had been a much more responsible human. He and Peter had worked together to close the sale of their father’s home, and since then, Mike had singlehandedly dealt with all their father’s belongings. He sold a lot of it, donated most, and brought the things he knew were important to the island with him to sit and go through together with Peter.
They’d sat in the living room that night talking and reminiscing until close to three in the morning. I’d made them dinner and tried not to bother them. I spent most of the evening in the bedroom with the newest W. Parker novel—a book about a young woman on an island who met a rogue sailor fleeing a bad past of trauma and failures. I couldn’t help but see similarities between me and the main character and I wondered if Parker had used me as a muse.
As soon as I’d had the thought, I told myself that it was nonsense and just a coincidence. There was no way a writer as successful or famous as him would write a book inspired by the likes of me.
Then again, crazier things had happened.
Roman and Ginny were still living together and biting each other’s heads off on the daily. They picked me up at the cabin on their way to work every morning and had stuck to their promise to go in an hour earlier every day so we didn’t have to rush. It gave us time to say good morning to Hop, order our coffees, and get organized in our conference room before we started working with clients.
It also let us leave work an hour earlier than usual so long as we stayed on top of our schedule.
Ever since moving out of the El Cartana, my work-life balance had been much better. At first, I assumed it was just because I no longer lived on the property, but I realized if it wasn’t for Peter, I still would have spent just as many hours working now as I had before I moved out.
He was the reason I wanted balance. He was the reason I wanted to leave on time at