Before I can even take in Lark’s reaction or worry about whether or not he’ll say it too, feel it too, he pulls me tight against him and smashes his lips to mine.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to say my name. “Stella—” And then he’s kissing me again. Urgently, I might add. And then, “I love you. I love you, too.”
More kissing. I’m getting dizzy in the best possible way.
“Oh God,” he gasps, like a man coming up for air. I’m breathless too, but getting oxygen is secondary because the look on his face is so pained. “I thought I’d ruined everything. I thought you hated me.”
“No.” I shake my head, caressing his face, smoothing his hair, wanting to erase his worry. “No, I thought you weren’t mine to keep. That you’d come into my life to teach me how to love and break my heart open. At least, that was one of the interpretations Pen made about my tarot reading—”
“Tarot reading?” Lark’s confused frown is so adorable, I laugh again.
“Are you really surprised?”
His mouth quirks into a smile. “No, but I’m curious.”
I brush my lips twice against his, unable to get enough of him. I can’t ever remember being this happy. My body is exhausted, but my heart is weightless.
“It’s a long story,” I say, blushing a little at the memory. “I mean, Pen is—”
Lark shakes his head, grinning widely. “Don’t be embarrassed. Pen is the reason I met you, remember? You wouldn’t take my calls.”
And now I’m really blushing. Groaning, I drop my head to his chest and feel the soothing rumble of his laugh. He tucks a finger under my chin and guides it up until I meet his gaze. Joy shines in his eyes.
“Tell me about this tarot reading.”
I sigh in resignation, but it’s a happy sigh. “Let’s just say it predicted good things for my love life, but it was unclear whether that would be with you or if letting you break my heart would open the door to someone else.” I shrug. “Basically, it was about me being ready to love.”
His brows lower like storm clouds. “Someone else?”
Am I imagining it, or is he holding me tighter? I bite down on my laughter. I shouldn’t find Lark’s jealousy so gratifying.
But I do.
I stand on tiptoes and kiss his stormy frown. “Never mind that. Clearly, that wasn’t meant to be,” I say.
“Clearly,” he growls. My feet leave the ground as he lifts me, kissing me so long and so well, I’m sure I’m floating.
When he finally sets me down, we’re both breathless and bothered, but tonight is not the night for anything more.
I take his hand. “C’mon.” I tug him toward my room. He halts.
“Are you sure? Maisy’s in there.”
I nod. “I know. I think it’s the only way I’ll get any rest tonight, knowing that the two of you are right there.”
Lark’s smile is knowing, loving. “I feel the same.”
In my bedroom, my four-year-old is asleep on her stomach in the exact middle of the bed, slumbering like only a child can when she knows she is safe and loved.
Quietly, we ready ourselves for bed and with tacit agreement, Lark and I sink onto the mattress on either side of her.
Before I switch off the lamp, Lark and I turn on our sides, facing each other, bracketing my child. He reaches for my hand and we clasp together, letting our hands rest lightly across Maisy’s back. Her steady breathing tugs at my own exhaustion.
Lark’s questioning eyes meet mine. “You think this’ll be okay?” he whispers. “When she wakes up, I mean?”
I nod, smiling gently. “It’ll be fine. Though, fair warning.” I arch a brow. “She’ll wake up excited to see you and have a million questions.”
His chuckle is rich and low. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. I squeeze his hand.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, the words catching in my throat when I let myself think of how differently this night could have gone.
Lark must read all of this in my expression. He squeezes back tighter. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right where I want to be.”
We whisper a few more questions, then a few sacred words, and when I turn off the light, sleep comes with merciful speed.
“Mama… Mama… Wake up.” I peel open one eye and find my daughter squinting down at me. Behind her, Lark sleeps on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes. With the doors boarded up, the lighting is weird, but I know from the windows that the sun is up. “Is it Saturday?” Maisy asks, confused.
I could sleep for another two days, but with a four-year-old, even two more minutes aren’t in the cards. “It’s Tuesday, baby,” I whisper. “But no school today.”
That’s a bit of a white lie. She has school, but after last night, I knew we all needed rest. I have clients, but not until this afternoon. Maisy looks over her shoulder, squinting at Lark.
“Bark snores,” she says.
“Shhh.” I bite down on a laugh. He’s not snoring now, but I vaguely remember a purring sound blanketing the room last night. I can’t say I minded.
Reaching over, I grab Maisy’s glasses from my nightstand and hand them to her. She puts them on without taking her eyes off Lark. I can’t blame her. He is quite a sight. But as if he senses our eyes, Lark stirs, stretches, and rolls toward us, blinking awake.
He stares at us staring at him.
“Am I dreaming?” he croaks.
“No,” Maisy and I say in unison.
“Good,” Lark murmurs, closing his eyes and nestling deeper into his pillow.
I laugh and Maisy protests. “Hey! It’s time to wake up.” As far as she’s concerned, anything else is nonsense.
He grunts in response, but I can tell it’s all for show. Maisy crawls over and plants her hands on his shoulder. The contrast between her small fists and his stacked muscles is downright endearing—especially when she shakes him with all her might. “Wake up, Bark!”
Another groan rumbles from him. “I only get up for food,” he teases, sending Maisy into fits of giggles. He’s peeking at her, pretending his eyes are still closed, but he’s fighting a smile. “Do you have food, Paisley?”
She throws her head back, laughing uncontrollably. Paisley is definitely a new one in their name game.
“No,” she says between pants. Then points to the door. “The kitchen’s that way.”
Playing along, Lark looks over his shoulder. Then shakes his head. “Too far.”
I can’t help it. This time I laugh too. And laughing is a good way to get out of bed. “I think I can make it,” I say sportingly, pushing up to sitting, “for the greater good.”
But before I can rise, Lark snatches my hand and hooks an arm around Maisy. “No,” he says, not sternly, but clearly. Then he brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. The look in his eyes makes me go completely still.
Love. Adoration. Admiration. Awe. I see it all in that stunning blue.
Maisy looks back and forth between us wearing a curious frown.
“You’re not making breakfast today.” His grip on my hand is firm.
I give him a smile, but he needs to be reasonable. After last night, everyone is going to be famished and gravitating toward the comfort of the kitchen.
“It’s no trouble,” I say. “I’ll just whip up a—”
“No. Maisy and I will get doughnuts.”
My daughter’s eyes go wide. “I can come? Can I get a jelly filled?”
“Sure. If you get one for me,” Lark says.
She beams. “Uncle T likes jelly doughnuts too.”
Lark nods soberly. “Maybe we need a whole dozen.”
Maisy’s soft gasp is all wonder. And then she tackles Lark in a hug. “Oooh,” she squeals. “You’re the best!”
Laughing, Lark hugs her tight. My heart turns over. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Then he executes an ab curl, bringing them to sitting. No easy feat. Ma
isy may be four, but she’s hefty.
“Go get dressed,” he tells her. “The Jelly Doughnut Jeep leaves in five minutes.”
Maisy scrambles off the bed. I’m ready for her to tear out of the room, but she stops and looks at Lark. Then me. Then Lark again.
“Are you Mama’s boyfriend now?”
I bite my lip. We’ve declared our feelings, but we haven’t used words like boyfriend or girlfriend. It’s silly, considering, but I still hesitate.
“Um—” I start.
“Yes,” Lark announces. He looks from Maisy to me, cocking an eyebrow as if daring me to contradict.
Not on my life.
“Yes,” I agree on a nod.
Maisy’s brows lower as she side-eyes us. “Are you gonna kiss and be gross?”
“Yes.” Lark’s tone leaves no room for doubt. “Very gross.”
Maisy’s eyes widen. This answer is more than she bargained for. And even though she’s too innocent to even picture anything beyond kissing, a blush sizzles on my cheeks.
She screws up her little face like she’s trying to work out a puzzle. “Are you gonna get married?”
“Well—” Lark says.
“No,” I say at the same time.
I look at Lark. He looks at me. I raise a brow. He presses his lips together.
But Maisy isn’t done. “Are you gonna go on dates?”
“Yes,” Lark answers with an affirmative nod.
“Can I come?”
“Sometimes,” I say.
“Yes. Sometimes,” Lark says with so much gentleness toward my child that my heart melts into the goo of a well-roasted marshmallow.
Maisy’s smile is satisfied. She nods. Then she appraises Lark. “I can still call you Bark?”
“No.”
He tries to look stern. He really does.
Maisy shrugs, turns on her heels, and heads for the door. “Okay, Bark.” And then she bounces out of the room.
Our eyes meet, and I see something that makes my molten heart swell. Lark looks as happy as I feel.
I don’t have time to take it in or say a word because then next thing I know, I’m on my back, Lark caging me with his limbs.
The look in his eyes that was nothing but joy a moment ago is now blazing. Joy flame-licked with desire.
Breathtaking.
His dark brows lower like he’s studying something he doesn’t quite understand.
My mouth goes dry. I try to swallow. “Wh-What?” I stammer.
“Will you go out with me Saturday night?” He asks the question like he’s not certain I’ll say yes, but in that hint of uncertainty, I hear how much he wants me to say yes. I like it more than I should.
“I’d like that.” My voice is scratchy.
I expect that touch of uncertainty to disappear, but, instead, it grows. Lark studies me for what feels like a long time. So long, I reach up a hand and stroke his cheek.
“What is it?” I ask on a whisper.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his muscled throat. “And on Sunday… would you and Maisy come to my parents’ house for dinner? I’d like you to meet the rest of my family.”
My eyes fly open. “A-Are you sure?”
“God, yes.”
My smile is reckless. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“It’ll be fun. I mean, it’ll be insane,” he says, his brow quirking. “My family is New Iberia Crazy—”
“New Iberia Crazy?”
He nods earnestly. “Cajun. Catholic. Crowded. Crazy.”
I lick my lips, trying not to laugh. “Ah. Okay. I’ve been warned.”
He nods harder. “Yeah, but if it gets to be too much, we’ll take a boat onto the Teche.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Maisy will love it.” Then his eyes narrow. “Of course, we’ll probably have to take Grayson—”
“She’ll love that too.”
Lark’s eyes glint. Again, his look of happiness swells my heart. “It’s a date.”
Holy shit. I have a date.
Two dates.
I have a boyfriend.
“What?” Lark asks, frowning at me.
“N-Nothing.”
“Nothing?” He pins me with his gaze.
I realize then that nothing is absolutely the wrong word. Everything is much more fitting.
I think about all of the things that had to happen to lead me to this moment. To lead us to this moment. All of the things that could have gone differently but didn’t. Going back as far as Nanna’s wish to leave me this house. Because without the gift of this house, I wouldn’t have met Lark. Or Nina. Or Livy.
And all of our lives would have been the poorer for that.
“I’m just really grateful my Nanna left me this house.” My eyes sting and my throat pinches, but my smile is stronger than the tears.
His smile warms me. “She knew what she was doing, putting it in good hands.”
I feel it then, the honor of her trust. “You think so?” I ask softly.
Lark’s eyes spark. “I know so. You’ve filled it with life and love and dreams. What could be better?”
Better than life and love and dreams?
“I don’t know.” I grin. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Epilogue
TYLER
They’re going somewhere.
Maisy and… What’s-His-Name.
I lift my head and wait. Wait for the door to thunk and snick when it’s locked.
Lock the door, I want to say.
I can’t.
Even if I could.
Because Golden is asleep.
Tried to run twice. Golden.
You’re not going anywhere without me, I wanted to tell her.
I couldn’t.
Not like that.
Thunk... Snick.
I lower my head on the pillow. Right behind Golden’s.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
My heart is in my head.
I shut my eyes. They burn. I haven’t slept.
Because Golden couldn’t sleep.
She wanted to run.
I want to kill him.
I will kill him.
Because he’s not hurting her.
He’s not touching her.
Never again.
Acknowledgments
As I’ve hinted on social media and my newsletter, the idea for Dream House literally came to me in a dream. Not fully formed by any means, but in the dream, there was a great old house with a mix of people and a little girl who swiped some rocks. That's how it all started. I think expressing gratitude is not only a source of joy but also an invitation for greater abundance, so I’m grateful to whatever power gifted me that dream. I’m so completely in love with the inhabitants of Nanna’s house, and I’m excited to continue writing their stories.
My daughter Hannah deserves big thanks for all of her contributions to this book. Aside from all of her help with Pen’s spells, bundles, and Tarot readings, she drew the floor plan of Nanna’s house to perfection. Despite my messy, confusing, and rudimentary scribbles, she made the house look the way it looks in my head.
Another artist who took my ideas and depicted them beautifully is the wildly talented Cayla Zeek. This is the third book cover she has created for me, and when I saw her first sketches, I immediately recognized the house and my characters. I love everything about this cover, and if you haven’t taken a moment to appreciate all the little details, please do. It’s spectacular.
The cover wouldn’t be finished and ready for publication without my graphic designer, Jena Brignola. Jena’s keen eye, skill, professionalism, and reliability have served me for years, and I have her to thank for banners, teasers, and cover finalizing and formatting for both ebooks and print.
To Bria Wolf and Rae Samms, thank you for the time spent reading and all of your feedback. Your encouragement means so much to me. (By the way, dear reader, if you’re looking for an amazing paranorm
al romance, check out Rae Samms’, a.k.a. Brynne Weaver's fantastic novel A Shadow in the Reaping.)
Thanks to Kathleen Payne for laughing at my jokes, and for editing, proofreading, and polishing my words. I’m so grateful for your continued help and support. Thanks, too, for the good ladies at Marie Force’s Formatting Fairies and InkSlinger PR. I’m blessed to have really good teams on my team.
Thanks to Kayla Fauber for answering my physics questions and Beth Acevedo for answering my medical questions—again. Thanks to Tara, Candy, and Lynette for the miles of walking, the coffees, the laughing, the crying, the texts, and the GIFS that keep me going.
John, my life wouldn’t make sense without you. Even while training to Boston qualify, you read every word of this novel and always lifted me up. I love you and I’m so proud of you. Look out, Boston!
I’m sure I’ll forget someone and I’ll kick myself for it later, and if that’s you, thank you all the same. To my readers, new and old, thank you so much for choosing this book and living in this dream house with me. I hope you’ll hang on for Tyler and Nina’s story, which is up next. Please post a review with your favorite book retailer and/or on Goodreads. It really helps. Happy Reading!
About the Author
Stephanie Fournet, author of eleven novels including Leave a Mark, Kind of Cursed, Two-Step, and Dream House, lives in Lafayette, Louisiana—not far from the Saint Streets where her novels are set. She shares her home with her husband and daughter, their needy dogs Mabel, Finnegan, and Bud, and the ghosts of dogs past. When she isn’t writing romance novels, Stephanie is usually helping students get into college, camping (if it’s cold), paddle boarding (if it’s hot), or curled up with a good book. She loves hearing from readers, so look for her on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Goodreads, and stephaniefournet.com.
Other Books By Stephanie Fournet
FALL SEMESTER
LEGACY
BUTTERFLY GINGER
LEAVE A MARK
YOU FIRST
DRIVE
SHELTER
SOMEONE LIKE ME
KIND OF CURSED
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