Hannah

I woke the next morning tangled up in Charlie, aching and sore in all the best ways.

For a long time, I lay there awake in his arms, listening to his heart beat and his slow breath, wondering over my future, not the least bit afraid.

He’d shown me the waiver, told me that Mary had let him and the children go. He’d told me again what I’d always known—that he did trust me, that he did love me—and I knew he’d never second-guess me again. We’d talked about Quinton through my tears, and I didn’t doubt for a breath that Charlie would never forgive himself for not believing me.

But we hadn’t talked about what would come, though I knew he’d want me to come back with him, and I knew I’d go.

There were no more questions. Everything had been stripped down to its simplest form—I wanted him, and he wanted me.

After a while, he woke, his hands finding my hair and his lips finding mine, almost as if they needed to be certain I was real. And the kiss deepened with our breath, our bodies finding their way together again.

We spent the morning in bed, only deciding to leave when we were too hungry to stay where we were. So we showered and dressed, walked along the canal until we found a café for brunch, and ate bread and jam and cheese until we were satisfied.

And then we headed back to my parents’ house. I popped my head in just to ask to borrow their bikes and a blanket and basket, which brought everyone out to talk to us. But an hour later, after stopping by the market, we were sitting on a plaid blanket, sipping wine and eating more bread and more cheese.

Charlie took a bite of cheese, stretched out on the blanket next to me, the wind ruffling his hair as he looked across the field and toward the green pastures beyond. The snow hadn’t stuck, and the day was bright and sunny and crisp and perfect. I looked in the same direction with a sigh.

“So beautiful,” he said.

“It really is, isn’t it?”

“The countryside is nice too.”

I smiled down at him, touching his face as I kissed him, running my thumb over his bottom lip when I pulled away.

“I’ve got something for you.” He moved for his bag as I watched, curious.

And when I saw what was in his hands, I was too stunned to speak.

He handed me the wooden shoe, stuffed to the brim, painted with a scene of a bakery with a pink-striped awning and a sign that read Lekker, and along the edge were the words, Home is where the heart is, in Dutch. I touched the words and met his twinkling eyes.

“Charlie …”

“Look inside.”

So I did. Inside were rolled up drawings from Sammy and Maven and a snowflake they’d made for me out of popsicle sticks. My curiosity rose when I found Oma’s set of silver measuring spoons nestled in the bed of hay, coming to a roll of paper last, tied with a broad red ribbon.

I set the shoe down and untied the ribbon, the paper unfurling to reveal a real estate listing.

My hands went numb. It was the sandwich shop near Charlie’s house, and behind it was an unsigned lease agreement.

My eyes snapped to his, and he sat up.

“I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with my life since you left me, and I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be with you and that I didn’t want to go back to law. And when I thought about being with you, it made me want my family, want that future I’d dreamed of. It made me wonder why I had to find another job. It made me wonder if I could help you have your dream so that I could have mine.”

He looked down at the papers in my hands, but my gaze stayed on his long face, on his elegant nose and the curves of his lips.

“You have the ability and skill to run a bakery, and I have the money to put behind it and the business acumen to help you run it. The apartment above the shop was for lease too, and I’ve got everything ready to list my house and take this lease. I can stay home with the kids, and you can have your bakery. And it would be yours. The papers have already been drawn up, and everything is in your name. If something happens, if I lose you again, if I lose you for good, the shop is yours.”

I swallowed back tears, and he took my hand.

“Hannah, just say the word. Say the word, and it’s yours. If you need time to think—”

“Yes,” I blurted, the word tight with emotion and my cheeks hot.

He searched my face, his voice hushed. “Are you sure? Don’t … I know I put you on the spot with all of this, and I—”

I shut him up with a kiss, rising up on my knees as his arms wound around my waist.

When I broke away, he looked up at me with a lazy, hazy smile.

“You bought me a bakery,” I said with wonder.

He shrugged. “I’m only in it for the kwarktaart.”

And I laughed against his lips and kissed him again, knowing dreams were free and feeling like the luckiest woman in the world because every one of mine had come true.