Then he'd returned in the light the next day and had felt an immediate kinship to the shabby Victorian. It was calling for an owner, and he was looking to put down roots.
Maybe it was a way to ease the wound of losing Bree so quickly after finding her. He didn't know. But he had looked at that house and felt like Charlie Brown with his spindly Christmas tree. They needed each other.
The agent, Marcy Hancock, had pulled in behind him. "This house needs work," she said as a way of greeting when they both stood in the driveway. "It's been empty for a year, and the mice have made it home."
Ian stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm aware of that. But it sounds like the price reflects that, and if it's structurally sound, I don't have a problem with a little grime."
"Okay, let's take a look then. Oh, and another agent is bringing a client by to look at it. We might bump into them."
They went in through the back, into the kitchen. It needed serious updating but it had a good layout, and Ian could see it would be an easy job to replace the existing cabinets and do a remodel. Not cheap, but no walls needed to be moved either. He liked the light and the woodwork and the hardwood floors. He was feeling cautiously optimistic when they headed into the living room.
There he just stopped and stared. Holy shit. It was the room, the house, from his dream. It had the same musty smell, the same dusty floor.
The same bare and lonely Christmas tree standing in a corner.
The agent was running on and on about the previous owner and how the house had such potential, but Ian barely heard a word.
It was the house.
And the front door was opening.
He turned and there was Bree, walking into the house.
She saw him, and he felt it, just like in his dream.
Her disappointment in him, her longing. The mutual ache from both their hearts.
God, he was in love with her. It was crazy, impossible, but he was.
Just looking at her standing there, snow on her boots, coat bundled up to her throat, gloves on, nose red from the cold, he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms.
"Ian?" she said. "What are you doing here?" She stepped into the entry hall.
He cleared his throat, which was suddenly tight. "I was thinking I might like a place in the country. I found this one by accident."
"Really?" Bree moved into the doorway of the living room, pausing between the open pocket doors.
She looked around the room and gasped. "Oh, Ian."
There were instant tears in her eyes. "This is the house in our dream."
"Bree," he said, moving toward her, unable to stop himself from taking her hands in his. "I'm so sorry about Darius and the house . . . I swear I had no idea what he was doing. I'll give you the money, I'll do whatever you want me to do to prove that I would never intentionally hurt you. Please understand that. I really, really . . . love you." He couldn't believe he'd said that out loud, but it was true, and he wanted her to know. Ian cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her forehead. "You can think I'm insane, but it's true. I know you. Does that make sense?"
"Yes." Her hands wrapped around his wrists, and she kissed the inside of his palm. "I know you had no part in Damiano's offer. I'm sorry I overreacted. I was hurt and overwhelmed, and I always react with emotion."
"I understand."
Bree looked up at him, saw the love he had for her shining in his dark eyes and she felt the peace, the happiness she had asked for. This was the man she wanted, whether it made sense or not, whether it was too soon or not. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and she knew that Ian was, quite literally, the man of her dreams. "I love you," she said. "And this is our house, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." Ian smiled down at her. "Let's take the rest of the tour together."
"Yeesh, it takes forever to wrestle this car seat out of the car."
Bree turned to see Amanda Delmar Tucker stumbling in the front door in her jeans, a trench coat, and boots with two-inch heels, massive handbag over one arm and a baby carrier over the other. Amanda's son was nothing but a round bald head surrounded by fleece in his car seat. Her daughter, Piper, was standing behind Amanda, holding a diaper bag and peering curiously into the house.
Amanda stuck her sunglasses on her head and took a deep breath. "I feel like a pack mule." Then she seemed to finally realize what she was looking at. "Ian.
What the hell are you doing here?"
"I'm buying this house, Amanda."
Amanda set the carrier down and slammed the front door shut. She came toward them, hand out.
"No, you're not. Bree is. You've already let your client screw her out of one house, you're not screwing her personally out of another."
Bree thought it was awesome that Amanda was
willing to go to the mat for her. But in this case, she didn't actually need to. Bree snuggled closer to Ian.
"Actually, it's okay for Ian to screw me personally in this case."
Ian laughed. It took Amanda a second, but then she just said, "Hello. Not in front of my kids, okay? But what do you mean? What's really going on here?"
Ian said, "I think that Bree and I have decided to buy this house together, fifty-fifty. Am I right?" He looked to her for confirmation.
She had never been more sure of anything.
"Absolutely."
"I'm confused," the real-estate agent who had been with Ian said.
"Hey, look," Piper said. The little girl had dumped the diaper bag on the floor and was wandering around the room. "There's still an ornament on this tree. It's a cat."
Of course it was.
Chapter 8
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Charlotte asked Bree for about the nineteenth time in the last two days.
"Yes, I'm sure. I'm absolutely one hundred percent sure." Bree held a potted plant in her hand in the hallway of Granny's house. She was almost done moving all of her stuff to the house on Evergreen.
Abby pushed her hair out of her eyes and sat on the chair she had been carrying. "Not everyone needs to know someone for eight hundred years like you and Will did. Most people figure it out a little sooner."
Charlotte stuck her tongue out at Abby. "It was more like eight years, not eight hundred."
"Bad enough. Bree can't wait eight years. She'll be old by then."
Bree smacked Abby's arm. "Thanks. But no, I'm not waiting. Ian and I are starting our life together now."
"I just want you to be happy."
Bree smiled. "I am."
"I can't believe someone else owns this house now,"
Abby said, her expression sad as she glanced around the empty front rooms.
Bree reached out and squeezed Abby's shoulder. "I know. Me either." It was the only sad spot in a bright future. She was going to miss the house, miss the memories that could be found around every corner.
But somehow she knew this was her grandmother's way of telling her that it was time for a new phase in her life.
"Hey, look, Akasha left that mistletoe bunch on the floor." Charlotte pointed to the corner of the living room, by the fireplace. "We should probably grab that."
Bree stared at the mistletoe and smiled. "Nah. I think we should leave that for Darius Damiano. It sounds like he could use a little love in his life."
Abby scoffed. "Or someone smacking him upside the head."
"You're not talking about me, are you?" Ian appeared in the doorway, Will behind him.
Bree smiled. "No, we're just insulting Darius Damiano."
"Fair enough," Ian said.
"What else needs to go out?" Will asked, ever the efficient and brawny cop.
"This chair," Abby said, still sitting on it.
"Well, I guess you need to get out of it then, Squirt."
Bree would have expected Abby to make a smartass remark back to Will, but instead she just stared into the parlor. Then she said, "I'm going to live in this house, Bree. I just saw it. I'm older, and I live here. With a dude."
Bree wanted to dismiss it as Abby's melancholy over losing the house, but she remembered Abby's prediction about Ian, and she had to trust it. Or at least that it was a possibility. "I can see that, Abby."
Ian came over and whispered in her ear, "I love you. And I can't wait to debauch you in our new, freshly painted, remodeled house."
Bree turned slightly and kissed his cheek. "I love you, too. And I love the debauching in case you hadn't noticed."
"Oh, I've noticed."
Bree was wondering if they could get rid of everyone else for one last romp in the house, when her brother-in-law called over to them.
"Hey, Ian, give me a hand. Let's get the show on the road." Will was bent over, hands under the seat of the chair Abby was sitting in.
Ian went over and together they lifted the chair and carried a squealing Abby toward the front door.
Charlotte hooked her arm through Bree's. "You okay?"
"I'm great." She had her sisters, her brother-in-law, a man she loved, a new house.
It was wonderful. It was magick.
Chapter 1
There were a dozen houses on Holland Court, and each household was represented at the annual
Christmas party, which was, as usual, held on the afternoon of the second Sunday in December. Ruby had been tempted to skip the affair, to pretend to be sick or busy or antisocial, but weaseling out of anything Hester Livingston was in charge of was usually more trouble than it was worth.
Besides, she'd drawn a name, as had everyone else on the cul-de-sac. This year she was Secret Santa to Zane Benedict, the studly and standoffish professor who lived across the street from the house Aunt Mildred had left to Ruby in her will. Mildred had died more than six months ago, and the grief was still very sharp. When Ruby had buried her aunt, she'd buried all that remained of her blood kin, and the holidays only made her more aware of that fact.