“I don’t want your house.”
“Yes, you do. You love it here. The backyard.” The way he blurted the words made him sound like a petulant child.
“Brett, you are not giving me your house.”
“You can’t really do anything about it,” he said. The idea was brand new to him. But he was warming to it. “I mean, you could choose to sell it after I gift it to you, I guess...”
And she’d have enough money from the sale to buy whatever she needed. But if she didn’t sell it—she’d be living in a place designed for peace.
“There are four unused bedrooms upstairs. You can design the nursery however you want. Or use my downstairs office for the baby and have an office upstairs if you want to. And a couple guest bedrooms. For when Chloe and Jeff come to stay with you.”
He felt as if he was in a boardroom. Selling what he believed in. “The baby’s mine, too, El,” he said, calming now. He’d found a solution to the problem of what he could do to participate. To help her. “Let me give you what you want. Let me make you happy. Let me provide for my child.”
He had a way to make her happy. To give her the beauty she needed in her life.
Like Jeff, he was bringing his small family home.
“Where will you live?”
“In your apartment until I can find another place. I’m gone most of the time anyway.” He was making things up as he went, but it all made sense.
He was giving up his space. His lifeline.
To her. Their child.
And it was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ON MONDAY, ELLA’S day off, she was in a big-box store, buying moving boxes. In their conversation the night before, Brett had indicated that she could move as soon as she was ready, and so she was getting ready. She didn’t want to leave the unpacking for when the baby was bigger.
It had all made sense to her when she’d gotten up with a smile on her face that morning.
But as she was going to load her boxes in her cart, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. In a baggy shirt and jeans, she didn’t look like herself at all. She looked like a pregnant housewife. Someone she’d once been.
Someone she desperately wanted to be.
And she stopped.
What in the hell was she doing? Moving into Brett’s house? How would that work if she ever managed to fall out of love with him and meet someone else?
Was she, by moving into his home, resigning herself to a life without a mate? A life without romantic love?
When she started to shake, she knew that she was in over her head. She had to talk to someone.
And the only people she felt she could comfortably confide in were at The Lemonade Stand.
Leaving her empty cart for the next customer, Ella left the store. It was her turn to admit she needed help.
* * *
BRETT TRIED TO call Ella on his lunch break in Seattle. When she didn’t pick up he left a message for her that the paperwork to transfer his house over to her would be complete by the end of the week. If she wanted to move in prior to that, she was simply to let him know, and he’d accommodate her.
She was welcome to whatever furniture of his she wanted. What she didn’t want, he’d either move to the apartment or have put in storage until he found another place.
He wasn’t in a hurry.
The house, the yard—they’d all be ready and waiting for her.