Page 113 of Killaney Blood

"You sound like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop."

I shrug, unable to deny it. "Old habits."

"No shoes dropping," he says firmly. "Just you and me and the baby. And a wedding. Soon."

The idea of a wedding, a real, formal event for us, still leaves me breathless with something between terror and joy.

"Are you hungry? I can order some food. You need to eat more, you know, for the baby," he says, grabbing a menu.

"That's a myth," I say. "The baby's the size of a poppy seed. It doesn't need its own meal yet."

"Humor me."

"I humor you too much already. I wouldn't be able to move if I took all the food you offered me the last few weeks."

He smiles and puts the menu away. "Okay, fair enough. You let me know when you're hungry."

The flight attendant comes over and tells us to prepare for landing.

"Almost there," Declan says, squeezing my hand.

The plane begins its descent, and we land. When the plane comes to a stop, a man in a suit climbs aboard and starts taking our luggage off and down into an SUV with tinted windows that's waiting for us right on the runway.

Declan helps me off the plane and we slide into the back of the car. After a few minutes, the driver hops in and we start moving.

The SUV winds through tree-lined roads as Declan's hand rests on my thigh, his thumb rubbing me. I'm captivated by the scenery. It's just miles of untouched forest stretching in every direction.

"It's so beautiful," I say, looking around us.

"Wait till you see the house," Declan says, a hint of excitement in his voice.

The drive takes about 30 minutes from the small private airstrip, each turn taking us deeper into isolation. Finally, the trees part to reveal a massive structure of wood and stone, its windows glowing with warm light.

"House? This is a mansion," I say as we pull up to the front entrance.

Declan laughs. "It's just a cabin, baby."

Just a cabin. As if anything about this could ever bejustanything.

We step out into cold that bites at my cheeks and fingers. The air smells of pine and burning wood, clean in a way Boston never is.

"You like it?" Declan asks, his breath forming clouds between us.

"It's perfect," I say, and I mean it. It's like he's plucked the image from my dreams.

The front door opens to reveal a huge space dominated by a stone fireplace large enough to stand in. A fire already crackles, casting dancing shadows across leather couches and fur rugs. Twinkling string lights are draped along wooden beams overhead, giving the space a fairytale quality.

"This place is..." I trail off, overwhelmed.

"Ours for the week," Declan finishes, his arm sliding around my waist. "If you like it enough, I'll buy it for us. It could be our little getaway whenever you want."

The casual way he talks about buying what I'm sure is a property worth a few million is something I don't think I'll ever get used to.

The driver brings in our suitcases. Declan speaks to him briefly and the man waves goodbye.

"Here, let me show you around," Declan says, shutting the front door and taking my hand.

The tour is brief. Five bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, a kitchen that would make a chef weep, a home theater, a hot tub. It's luxury beyond anything I've ever experienced.