Page 48 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

TWENTY-FIVE

Spring in Taos always reminds me of new beginnings.

Today, watching Andrea in our garden, teaching our friends’ children about medicinal herbs while waiting for a call from her clinic, I’m struck by how perfectly she fits here—not just in my home, but in my life.

“And this one,” she’s saying, pointing to a plant, “is called Yerba Mansa. Your Tio Gabe’s grandmother used it for?—”

“For everything,” Anipea, DJ, and ‘Little’ Tyler (an addition we’ve had to assign to Sawyer and Alma’s son to differentiate between Tristy’s Tyler) chorus excitedly.

Turns out, growing up in sustainable homes where their parents can grow herbs and vegetables all year round taught them to appreciate the healing power of plants.

Andrea’s laugh carries across the garden to where I’m grilling lunch, a sound that’s become as familiar as the mountain views from our back porch.

Six months of splitting time between Taos and Albuquerque have taught us the value of these moments—lazy Sunday afternoons when we can just be together, no clinics or emergencies demanding our attention.

The ring burns a hole in my medical bag where I’ve been carrying it for weeks, waiting for the right moment.

I know Andrea’s stance on marriage right now—something about her Filipino mother’s superstition about having more than one wedding in the family per year, plus her own hesitation so soon after her divorce was finalized.

“Let’s just enjoy being us for a while,” she’d said when Tristy not-so-subtly brought up the topic last month.

So I wait.

After all, I waited ten years to admit I loved her—what’s another few months? Besides, we’re already building a life together. The ring is just a formality, a way to make official what we both already know: that this is it for us.

Hell, even her parents—devout Catholics—don’t mind waiting.

“Dr. Martin?” Her assistant’s voice comes through clear enough that I can hear it. “The board meeting is starting. They need your input on the new hire.”

Andrea glances at me apologetically, but I wave her off.

This is our reality now—balancing two practices, two cities, and one life we’re building together.

She heads inside for her video call while I take over herb lesson duty with the twins, Sawyer and Todd emerging from the house to take over the grill.

“Tio Gabe?” Anipea looks up at me with those serious eyes that remind me so much of her father. “Is Ninang Andie going to live here forever now?”

The question catches me off guard, though it shouldn’t. Kids always know what adults are dancing around. “Would you like that?”

“Yes!” DJ bounces on his toes. “Then she can teach us about plants every weekend instead of just sometimes.”

“And make lumpia,” Little Tyler adds. “Dad says your lumpia isn’t as good as hers.”

I laugh, remembering my failed attempts at recreating Andrea’s family recipes. “Your dad’s right about that.”

Through the home office window, I can see Andrea pacing as she talks, her hands moving animatedly the way they do when she’s excited about something. Even from here, I can read her body language—whatever’s happening at the last-minute board meeting is good news.

The sliding door opens and Harlow emerges with a pitcher of lemonade. “Everyone wants to know if lunch is ready yet.”

“Almost,” Sawyer replies, him and Todd taking turns flipping the chicken and steaks on the grill.

“Heard they approved the new administrative director.” Harlow pours drinks for the twins as I lead them to the patio table. “That’s going to free up a lot of her time.”

I grin. “That’s the plan.”

The plan we’ve spent months crafting: Andrea stepping back from administrative duties to focus on patient care, her clinic running under new leadership while maintaining her vision. My practice continuing to expand with Andrea eventually being among its resident physicians.

I want it done yesterday, but such things take time.

Salud Integrada was Andrea’s dream come true long before we met, and the last thing I want is for her to walk away from it too quickly.

She doesn’t have to. She can remain on the board and guide its future while practicing medicine the way she’s always wanted to—hands-on, personal, making a difference in people’s lives directly instead of drowning in paperwork.

Between my concierge practice, the satellite clinic and our partnership model, we’re creating something that could change how rural healthcare works in New Mexico.

Something bigger than either of us imagined when we started this journey.

Besides, watching her mentor residents, seeing how she lights up when she’s teaching—that’s the Andrea I fell in love with. The one who believes in making healthcare accessible to everyone, who fights for what she believes in.

Now she’ll have more time to do exactly that. More time for everything she wants, including the family we’ve been carefully not talking about.

I’ve seen how she watches the twins, how natural she is with them.

How she’s started making casual comments about the kid-friendly features I’ve been adding to the house.

We’re not rushing anything, but I know that look in her eyes when she talks about second chances.

About doing things differently this time around.

Andrea emerges from the house, her face glowing with excitement. “They approved everything! Mariah’s taking over as Administrative Director, and—” She stops, noticing our audience. “Sorry, work stuff.”

“Good work stuff?” I ask, though her smile tells me everything.

“The best.” She steals a piece of grilled chicken from one of the plates before Todd and Sawyer can bring them inside, dodging my playful swat.

“They also approved the partnership agreement with your clinic now that you’re officially a nonprofit.

We can start implementing the satellite location plans next month. ”

Harlow looks between us, her expression knowing. “I’ll take these two inside to wash up.” She herds the twins toward the house, leaving us alone.

“So,” I say, pulling Andrea close. “Everything’s falling into place.”

“Seems like it.” She fits against me perfectly, her head tucking under my chin. “Though there’s still the question of living arrangements.”

Ah. The conversation we’ve been dancing around for weeks.

While I don’t mind adding to my car’s mileage each week as we alternate weekends at my house, I miss waking up next to her seven days a week.

But everything takes time, even the moment I get to slide that ring around her finger. “What are you thinking?”

Andrea pulls back slightly to look at me. “I’ve been doing the math. Three days a week in Albuquerque for direct patient care, four days including weekends here... It makes more sense to make Taos our home base.”

My heart skips. “Yeah?”

She nods, her smile turns teasing. “Besides, someone put an awful lot of work into those built-in bookshelves. It would be a shame not to fill them properly.”

“I did design them specifically for your medical journals.”

“I noticed.” She traces patterns on my chest, a habit she’s developed when she’s thinking. “And that kitchen island with space for cookie-baking...”

“And homework,” I add softly.

Her breath catches. “Gabe...”

“I’ve been thinking.” I take her hands in mine. “About our future. About everything we want—personally and professionally. And I realized something.”

“What’s that?”

I gesture to our surroundings—the garden where she wants to grow some of the vegetables she loves to add to her cooking (moringa, chayote, calamansi), the house I’ve been slowly renovating with our future in mind, the community that’s embraced her as one of their own.

“This could be our home base. Your condo could be our Albuquerque place for the days you need to be there. And the satellite clinic...” I pull her closer. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect.”

Through the window, I can hear the twins laughing with their parents, the sounds of our friends and family enjoying a Sunday afternoon.

“Welcome home, mi amor,” I whisper against her hair.

Her hands cover mine where they rest on her stomach. “I already was.”

“Besides,” she adds, turning in my arms with that smile that still makes my heart skip, “your house needs a woman’s touch. Starting with this paint color.”

“What’s wrong with the paint?”

“Gabe, honey, it’s builder’s beige. Even Dax winces when he visits.”

I laugh, remembering Dax’s not-so-subtle hints about helping us redesign the space. “You’re just trying to give your favorite woodworker an excuse to install more custom cabinets.”

“Maybe.” She walks to the window, surveying the garden where our family’s still gathered. “Though we might need them, especially if...”

“If?”

She bites her lip, suddenly looking uncertain. “If we’re serious about starting a family.”

The world stops for a moment. Except for the night we spent in Gareth’s guest house, we’ve since only talked about it in abstract terms. But this feels different. It feels real.

“Are we?” I ask carefully, moving to stand beside her. “Serious about it?”

“I had my IUD removed last week,” she says quietly. “I know we should have discussed it first, but with my age, the chances of conceiving naturally are?—”

I cut her off with a kiss, pouring everything I feel into it. She’s always been worried about whether she can still have kids, reminding me that she could be a grandmother soon, but if she wants kids, I’m not going to stop her. I want them just as much as she does.

When we break apart, she looks dazed. “So... you’re okay with this?”

“Okay with it?” I can’t stop smiling. “Andie, I’ve been researching the best preschools in Taos for months. I even talked to Harlow about her OB recommendations.”

Her eyes widen. “You have?”