thinks I am. Even if I was when it came to you.” She turned and traded a nod with Alec, who turned and went back to his car with a shit-eating grin that Russell was too distracted to analyze. Abby. She was right there. And she sure as hell wasn’t there for a friendly chat. “Why are you selling it? Why?”
Honesty exploded out of him. He never thought he’d get the chance to be truthful with her again and wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. Anything to keep her standing in front of him a little longer. “Without you, Abby, this house is just some fucking wood I nailed together. It’s meaningless.” He swallowed hard. “Do you know when I started renovating this place?”
Her arms had uncrossed and dropped to her sides. “When?” she whispered.
“The day after we met, angel. The next damn day.” He took a step in her direction, breathing a sigh of relief when she stayed put. “After my father left, it was just sitting here, waiting for us to sell it. But suddenly, I couldn’t. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I could picture us in these rooms. I could see you coming down the stairs in that robe hanging in your bedroom. The one with the flowers on it.”
“It’s a kimono,” she said, so softly he barely heard her.
“Okay.” He wanted to reach out and grab her but managed to hold back. She needed to hear everything. Deserved everything he’d been holding inside. “I love you, Abby. I’ve loved you. I didn’t realize saying that might be all you needed to hear because I only understood action. If I were a smarter man, I would have said the words a million times. I’ve loved you. I’ve loved you. I’ve loved you. And this house is useless unless you’re inside it to make memories with me.” He laid a fist over his heart. “My memories were supposed to be with you.”
She didn’t move. Or speak. For a really long time. And that was a goddamn blessing for Russell because it meant he got to be with Abby. Got to look at her. If he tried really hard, he could even catch a hint of white-grape sunlight on the summer breeze. His hands shook with the desire to touch her, so he shoved them into his jeans pockets. He’d barely started cataloging every detail of her face when she ran past him, up the stairs, and into the house.
A beat passed where he could only stare at the place where Abby had been standing. He quickly turned and followed, however, craving the sight of her within the four lonely walls. Russell paused on the threshold, because dammit, he’d never wanted to set foot inside again. But she was inside. She was there. So when he saw her red dress flash at the top of the staircase, he went after her.
Russell strode past the confused Realtor and scaled the stairs, turning right toward the office when he reached the landing. As he got closer to the office, his mouth went dry, pulse thundering with the knowledge of what Abby would find. He moved into the doorway, and there she was . . .
. . . bathed in the shine produced by eight oversized skylights. The ones he’d spent the last week installing. Hell, there was barely any ceiling left, but what little was there, he’d painted blue to match the sky. The walls were rose gold and high-gloss, so they could capture the sunlight, spin it into a glow, and surround her with it. As if she needed any help looking magical as she turned in a slow circle at the center of the room. He watched as she noticed the red and yellow roses he’s set up along the window and placed around the room.
Then those hazel eyes were on him, eclipsing the sunlight. “You did this for me?”
“You said . . .” He cleared the rust from his throat. “You said you wanted it to feel like you were working outside.”
Twin tears rolled down her cheeks, and Russell took an involuntary step forward to dry them, but her voice halted him in his tracks. “It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. Anywhere. In my entire life.”
Russell had to look away because the emotion that rolled through him was so potent, he was afraid to direct it toward her. Not unless she wanted it.
“Russell. You can’t sell this house.”
“Abby—”
“Where would we live?”
A shock of electricity struck him