“Naturally. A kitchen with actual counter space for all the cooking we’re going to do together.”
“We’re going to cook together?”
“All the time. Especially weekend breakfasts that are going to end up with us back in bed.”
“I’m definitely liking the sound of this.”
“Me, too. You’ll need an office space, of course.”
“And there should be a library.”
“We should definitely have a library,” he agreed. “One with big, cushy furniture and maybe a fireplace.”
The idea of it charmed and excited her and made her remember the drawers of books under the couch. “I found yours.”
His brows drew together. “My what?”
“Your library drawers under the couch.”
“Ah. I had to get creative with storage. There aren’t many empty walls for shelves in this place.”
Would he tell her about his favorite if she asked? It seemed a less sensitive question now. “I saw my books in there.”
“I told you I’d read them.”
She hadn’t quite believed him and had been too caught up in mortification at what those books had revealed about her in their years apart. “Yeah. Some looked like more than once.”
“Sure.”
“Why Edge of Reason? It looked pretty well loved, like there was something you kept coming back to, over and over.”
“There was. Remember how I mentioned you write like you talk?”
“Yeah.”
“There was that passage after the bombing, when Boone and Layla are trapped and think they aren’t going to survive.” His eyes unfocused a little. “He said, ‘Home isn’t a place for people like us. It’s not white picket fences or comfortable beds or hallways lined with photographs chronicling the years and the milestones. Home is a feeling. It’s the scent of your hair. The feel of your hand in mine. The flash of your smile. The sound of your laugh or the way you slurp noodles so fast they slap your nose. It’s a thousand tiny moments that all add up to one truth: Home is you. It always was.’”
He blinked, focusing back on her. “When I read it, I could hear you in my head, and it was like you were talking directly to me. When things got hard, I’d pull it out to remind me. Because you were always home to me.”
Paisley’s throat went thick with tears. “Ty.”
Stroking back her hair, he searched her face in the dim glow of the night light that illuminated the stairs. “Thank you for letting me come home.”
She pressed her brow to his. “It was always yours. I’ve just been waiting for you to come back to me.”
For a long time they lay there in the dark, breathing the same air, content to finally be where they were meant to. Together. Lulled by the steady rhythm of his breath, Paisley was on the edge of sleep when he spoke again.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
After a beat of weighted silence, he sucked in a breath. “Will you help me go home for real? Come with me to the celebration of Garrett’s life?”
She understood what it would cost him to go. Understood, too, what it meant that he wanted her with him. It was the next step in his journey to healing, and she was going to be right there by his side. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Ty slid out of his truck and into the golden spring day. Being in March, Garrett’s birthday had always been hit or miss on weather, as likely to be incessant rain and wind as sun. But Bethany had lucked out with her planning, getting a gorgeous, warm day that called for shirt sleeves and iced tea. As he looked the rest of the way up the drive toward the neat farmhouse where she’d grown up, Ty remembered others just like it, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with his best friend, tossing a football and laughing while they decided what trouble to get into for the afternoon.
Welcome home, brother.
The phantom sound of Garrett’s voice had a chill racing over Ty’s skin, despite the warmth of the sunshine filtering through the trees just beginning to leaf. He hadn’t been back since the funeral, and he’d run from that. His one visit to Bethany in Athens after that hadn’t ended much better.
A hand slid into his and squeezed. Paisley tipped her head against his arm. “Well, this certainly brings back memories.”
The image in his head expanded, like a camera pulling back for a wider-angle view. And there she was, her sun-streaked ponytail swinging, her grin flashing as she and Bethany took off for the double swing in the big oak tree.
“Yeah.” Feeling more grounded, Ty tightened his hand around hers and strode toward the house.
They were early. But he had no idea how big this shindig was supposed to be, and he’d wanted a chance to speak to Bethany before everyone else arrived. Nerves hummed beneath his skin as he rang the bell and waited. The faint sounds of a female voice were answered by a deeper male tone. The door swung open to reveal one of Bethany’s dads.
Dr. Gordon Bristow’s dark face split into a broad smile at the sight of them. “Ty Brooks. It’s good to see you, son.”
“And you, sir.” He accepted the firm handshake.
“And Paisley! Oh, my goodness, girl, it’s been forever. Come give me a hug.”
She stepped inside, giving him a squeeze and a smile. “It’s great to see you, Doc.”
“Come on through to the back. Bethany and Paul are fussing with the last of the setup.”
They trailed him through the house. Dimly, Ty noted new paint on the walls, a new sofa, and the same ancient chair by the fireplace that Dr. Bristow’s husband refused to part with. Then they were outside again, and there was Bethany, cheeks flushed and glowing, glossy black hair gleaming in the sunshine, looking happy as she argued with her father over the placement of a picnic table.
The sight of her struck Ty dumb, even when Bethany turned and saw him.
“Ty!”
He didn’t know what to do with her delighted smile and was saved from figuring it out when her gaze slid
