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My vision blurs. It’s too much information and emotion at once, and for a second my mind is blank. I can’t think or speak or breathe.

My heart is racing a million miles a minute. This wasn’t supposed to happen. If he stays, I won’t be able to keep my past where it belongs without being dishonest. Could I tell him the truth? No. But Iwantthis. I want him.

The weight of a hand rests on my shoulder and shakes me out of my spiraling panic. I blink, and a tear rolls down my cheek. He swipes it away with his thumb and then cups my face and gazes down at me with so much tenderness and love that it hurts. “You don’t have to say anything or decide right now. I know I’m throwing you for a loop. But I wanted you to know where I am. And what you mean to me.”

I look up into the face of the man who has turned my world right side up. He’s so much more than I ever dreamed of, and I know I don’t deserve him. I should encourage him to leave. I should tell him this won’t work. But when I open my mouth, I can’t say anything but the truth my heart has known for months. “I love you, too. And yes, of course, I want to live with you.”

His lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Glad to see you’ve finally caught up.” He drops a kiss on my lips and pulls me into a warm embrace. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ve got a bottle of champagne chilled and ready to celebrate.”

“You’ve always got a bottle of champagne chilled.” He has a full-sized wine fridge that’s fully stocked.

“But I don’t always have a reason to pop one open.”

I grab my bag, take his outstretched hand, and follow him out of the door and onto the hedgerow-lined path that leads to the main house. My phone starts to ring just as we step inside.

“Hold on, let me just check it’s not work.” I drop my bag on the counter and unzip it.

I chuckle as I fish it out. “If it is, tell them you’re busy.” He points a finger at me and walks over to the wine fridge.

“If it’s them, I’m not answering until I’ve had a glass of champagne.” I’ve worked almost eighty hours this week, and unless it’s an emergency, I’m not calling them back until tomorrow.

I miss the call, but it’s not work or any other number I recognize. The double zeroes at the front of it tell me that it’s from outside the UK. “Hey, do you know which country has calling code 34?”

Omar is busy pulling down champagne flutes, but he answers right away. “Spain.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know anyone in Spain. How odd.”

He tosses the gold foil he pulled off the champagne into the trash and starts pulling out the cork. “It’s probably one of those time share companies trying to convince you to buy a place in Tenerife or Ibiza.” My stomach drops all the way to my toes just as the bottle relinquishes the cork with a loud pop and the bubbly liquid overflows. He busies himself filling the glasses, and we toast to the something special we took a chance on.

Omar starts to poke around his fridge to figure out what he’s going to cook us for dinner and tell me about an endorsement offer he received from a watchmaker I’ve heard of.

But I can’t focus fully because my mind has raced back in time to the night I took Conrad to the airport and bought him a one-way ticket.

To Ibiza.

If he’s calling me, he must be out of money. Eight months is longer than I expected him to last, but it’s not long enough.

“You should keep things here,” he says suddenly, his eyes on me as his deft hands slice and dice tomatoes and onions.

“I already do.”

“I mean, like everything. For good.”

The glass nearly slips from my suddenly slack fingers. I place it carefully on the counter and climb down. “You mean…move in? But I thought you were going to sell it once the renovation was done.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I love this house. Your touch is everywhere, and I want you to live here with me. You’re here practically every night. I’d love for you to call it home.”

I’m excited but surprised. “You want that?” I pause, bite my lip, and look at him closely. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’m head over heart and heels for you. I want us to start thinking about a future where we’re together.”

My poor heart doesn’t know what hit it, and it flails. “You do?”

“Don’t you?”

“Is Oprah rich? Of course I do. But what about your business in Houston? Your family?”

He puts the knife down and meets my gaze. “What about them?”