Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
When we finally break apart, Cavin presses his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“Mine,” he murmurs, just for me.
“Yours,” I whisper back.
The next half hour is a blur. Hugs and congratulations, and my mother crying into my father’s shoulder while he looks equal parts bewildered and resigned. I can’t believe that I… won’t be going home with them tonight.
Seamus claps Cavin on the back so hard he nearly knocks him over.
I’m tucked into Cavin’s side, his arm a solid weight around my waist, when he leans down to murmur in my ear.
“We’re not going upstairs. Not tonight.”
I blink up at him. “What?”
His mouth curves into that wicked smile I know too well. “I’ve a surprise for you, Mrs. McCarthy.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Erin
My stomach flips at the name.
Mrs. McCarthy.
“What kind of surprise?”
“The kind you’ll like.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Come on, lass. Let’s go.”
I’ve never seen Cavin this… happy. I’ve seen him smile and look boyish—I’ve seen fleeting moments of joy, but now it looks like he’s practically vibrating with excitement.
And I like it. He’s excited about something he wants to show me.
The drive is short—twenty minutes, maybe—and Cavin won’t tell me where we’re going, no matter how many times I ask. His hand stays on my thigh the whole way, warm and possessive, his thumb tracing absent circles that make it hard to think.
I’m excited and nervous, and I can’t believe we just did that. I text Bridget the whole way. She’s out of her mind excited that we’re married and that Mam doesn’t get to control this for another bloody second.
Bridget
He sounds like he isn’t the boy who tormented you anymore
I swallow hard and look up at my… at my husband before I reply.
He’s not
When we finally pull up, I don’t recognize the house at first. It’s set back from the road, surrounded by trees, with a long gravel drive that crunches under the tires. It’s not huge, not ostentatious, just a beautiful stone cottage with ivy climbing up one side and warm light glowing from the windows. The kind of place that welcomes you, apart from the rest.
“Cavin,” I whisper. “What is this?”
He cuts the engine and turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Ours.”
My heart stops. “What?”
“I bought it when I got released, before I knew you’d… be mine,” he says, running his hand through his hair. I love when he looks boyish like this. “Been fixing it up.” He reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Wanted it to be perfect for you. For us.”
I stare at him, then at the house, then back at him. “You—you bought us a house?”
“Aye. At first, I had every intention of staying in my family’s home, as this wasn’t ready yet. But then… I thought of you and your family and figured the last thing you’d want is to be married to me and sharing space with a crowd.”
He’s not wrong.
“So I tabled the plans for renovation and did a quick fix of the place instead. Thought you might like having a place that’s just ours. No family. No business. Just… us.” His jaw tightens slightly, like he’s nervous. “If you don’t like it, we can—”
I kiss him… hard, pouring everything I can’t say into it—the overwhelming gratitude, the tentative love.
When I pull back, he’s grinning. “I’ll take that as a yes, then?”
“Show me,” I whisper. “Show me everything.”
He carries me over the threshold—literally sweeps me up like I weigh nothing, and I’m laughing and almost crying at the same time because it’s ridiculous and perfect and him.
The inside is stunning. Warm wood floors, exposed beams, a stone fireplace that’s already crackling with a fire someone must have lit for us. The furniture is simple but beautiful, all soft fabrics, and warm colors, like he chose a palette that said calm and filled it with perfection.
There’s a kitchen that opens into the living space, all clean lines and modern touches, balanced with rustic charm.
“Cavin,” I whisper, spinning slowly to take it all in. “It’s perfect.”
“There’s more.” He takes my hand, leading me down a hallway lined with framed photographs—landscapes mostly, rolling green hills and dramatic coastlines. “Three bedrooms. Main one’s ours, obviously.”
He pushes open the first door, revealing a spacious room with a massive bed that looks like it could sleep four. The furniture is dark wood, masculine but not oppressive, and there’s a wall of windows overlooking what I can only assume is the back garden.
“This one’s just a spare for now,” he says, moving to the next door. “Thought maybe… if family ever needed a place to stay…”
I blink. I love it.
The third door opens to a smaller room, and I suck in a breath.
There’s a comfortable armchair positioned near a window with the best light, a small table already set up beside it. Shelves line one wall—empty now, but clearly waiting to be filled. The walls are painted a soft, warm cream, and there’s a reading lamp, the expensive kind that doesn’t strain your eyes.