Page 136 of Wild Card

With that, Tripp grins and waves. “I’m heading out. See if they need more help at the farm. You two… I don’t know. You two have fun. Or something, I guess.”

His face crinkles up, awkwardness tinging the moment, and he turns, leaving us to watch him go. Our breathing is the only sound in the quiet room. The busy chatter of the community center drifts in from the door, a reminder of everything still spinning outside this bubble.

Unexpectedly, Bash drops to his knees in front of me. He rests his head in my lap and wraps his arms around my calves, letting out a deep, heavy sigh. I bow my head closer to his and trail my fingers through his hair. He smells like smoke and engine oil and the soft bristles against my fingertips provide a comfort. He grounds me.

I breathe him in. I breathe my anxiety out.

I breathe him in. I breathe my doubt out.

I breathe him in. I breathe my fears out.

Because with Bash at my side, nothing feels as terrifying.

“I’m never going to run again, okay?” I say, hoping he understands what I mean.

I feel his head nod against the tops of my thighs. “Good, because I’m never letting you go.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

BASH

I sit on the front porch, staring out over the lake, but my eyes constantly drop to the left, where I built Gwen a small studio of her own.

I know she’s in there, teaching an online class, but I wait and watch for her anyway.

It’s been three months since the fire. Three months of us picking up the pieces of our relationship and piecing something together that feels awfully stable. More stable than anything either one of us has ever had.

Gwen promised not to run, and I promised not to let her go, and that’s what we’ve done.

The truth is, I’d follow her anywhere. If she runs, I run too.

But we don’t run; we stay.

I built her a studio where she can teach. We even picked plans that would match the main house, and I built it by hand. Every beam, every nail, placed with her in mind. Inside, the floor is heated, and I painted the walls a soft lavender. It’s an open space with floor-to-ceiling windows that face out toward the water, flooding the studio with light. It’s a perfect, peaceful, sun-drenched retreat for Gwen, as she makes my home her own.

Eventually, I hear the door below open and watch as her flash of blond hair appears around the corner. It’s pulled back in a perfectly smooth french braid, and she’s wearing a bright-purple matching yoga set—a crop top and leggings that hug her curves in the best way. She’s got a water bottle in one hand and a coffee mug in the other, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes.

She catches sight of me on the balcony and grins. “Are you stalking me?”

I lift my coffee in a silent cheers. “Of course. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

“Creepy.” She winks. “But I like it.”

At that, she makes her way back into the house, and soon she’s seated beside me in the Adirondack chair to my right with her coffee in hand.

“I took a quick phone call after my class in there.”

I turn and quirk a brow in her direction. “Oh yeah?”

She nods, letting out a little hum before taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, since I’m finally settling down with you, I should put down some roots in Rose Hill.”

I swallow. Not sure what to say to that.

She’s stayed. She hasn’t moved on. She’s kept doing what she’s doing.

But I have a feeling that she thinks nothing here is really hers.

She moved into my house, become friends with my friends, and took a temporary teaching job at a studio that isn’t hers. It was part of the reason I built her the studio, so she felt like she had something all her own. A place she could claim.