Christmas By Design

21. Epilogue

Epilogue

Beckett

One Year Later

“Just two more steps. That’s it. Okay, stop.” My hands cover Gemma’s eyes as I lead her into the house. Her parents are waiting outside with Nova. This will be her house, too, after all. She deserves to see it tonight, but I want Gemma to see it first.

After we finished the Dash house last January, Gemma wanted to turn right around and buy a tiny, suburban townhouse she’d had her eye on. I convinced her to wait, telling her that she didn’t want to jump at the first house she could afford. I also reminded her that she and I flip houses for a living. She could afford a lot more—and actually in the city she loves—if she was willing to flip something.

She grumbled about it for a while, saying that renovating houses was work she wanted to leave at the office. But she eventually admitted I was right and settled on a three-bedroom house in Humboldt Park. It was absolutely trashed when she bought it. Boarded-up windows, garbage everywhere. But the bones were good, and we both saw a lot of potential in it.

That was February. In March, she closed on the house and finally got the keys. She stood in the entryway, hands on her hips and trying not to cough at the smell radiating outward, probably from the kitchen. “This was your idea, Beckles,” she said. “You’d better be helping me with this place.”

As the months passed, she organized the contractors and paid fees with pride at her ability to do so. I sourced materials for her and gave her some options for finishes and designs. She scoffed at anything white and clean, and I needled her about her more colorful choices.

In short, it was the perfect way to spend time together.

But things sort of fell to the wayside in the summer and into the fall. Nova turned three and started dance lessons, then swim lessons. Gemma spent more and more time at my place under the guise of being closer to the Humboldt Park house, or closer to work… or closer to me. But she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to finish the house anymore, which would have been fine by me. I wasn’t in a rush for her to have a reason to spend less time at my condo. But I knew what this place meant to her, so I started doing little things while she was busy with Nova. Making sure a faucet was installed here, putting up some wallpaper there.

Eventually, it turned into me taking over the entire design for her. Usually, I hate designing with a homeowner in mind, but being able to do this for Gemma was surprisingly fun. I found myself making choices based on her style and getting excited to show her the things I had selected.

So, when she looked at me with her huge, green eyes and said, “I want to do a reveal like you did for Mrs. Dash!” who was I to argue?

What can I say? The woman has had me wrapped around her little finger since our snowed-in night last year.

When I suggested I reveal the house to her on Christmas Eve, she jumped on top of me and started ripping my clothes off. We made love right there on the sofa in my living room.

I guess it was a good gift idea.

“Can I look yet?” She bounces up and down on her toes, giddy to see her new home.

I take one last look around, needlessly making sure everything is perfect. Of course it is. I’ve spent every day this month in this place. For her.

“Yes,” I say. “Open your eyes.”

I watch her as she flutters her eyelids open, then as her jaw drops. She takes in the warm oak finishes and the colorful mosaic tile in the entryway. She gasps when she sees the vintage doorknobs and the ornate stained glass in the panels on either side of the front door.

“Who did you hire to do this?” She eyes me skeptically. “There’s no way you picked this much color.”

I chuckle. “Believe it or not, it was me.” My gaze lands on hers. “I did it for you.”

The weight of that statement settles on her, and her eyes glisten. “Beckett,” she breathes. “It’s perfect.”

I cup her jaw and press a kiss against her nose, which is still red from the cold. “Come on.” I lace my fingers through hers. “I want you to see the kitchen.”

She quivers with excitement and allows me to lead her into the space.

She squeals when she sees it. “No fucking way.” She doubles over with laughter, releasing my hand to clutch at her sides.

“What?” I ask, feigning innocence. “It’s a nice kitchen.”

“It’s a teal refrigerator!” Gemma forces out between her laughter.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my face neutral. “You made such a big deal about the one at the Dash house. I thought you might want one for yourself.”

“Bullshit!” Her eyes are watering with glee. “You know I did that to mess with you. I told you that!”

“Did you?” I tap my chin, pretending to think. “I don’t remember.”

Gemma swats at my arm. I grab her hand before it can hit me and pull her into an embrace. “These things are shockingly expensive,” I say. “I’m sure we can sell it and get you a nice stainless steel one.”

“You’d like that.” She directs her sarcasm into my chest. “Not a chance. It’s perfect.”

I kiss the top of her head, breathing in her spice-and-sugar scent. “ You’re perfect.”

She tilts her face up to me, her green eyes sparkling and her lips pursing against a smile. “Even though I’m keeping the teal fridge?”

I lean in for a kiss. “Especially because you’re keeping the teal fridge. I love you, Gemma Woodard. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“I love you, too, Beckett Camdon.” She kisses me back. “Thank you for putting away the white paint for me.”

I’d do that for her and then some, which she must know as she tours the rest of her dream home and sees the color on the walls, the vintage finishes, and the Christmas decorations from her childhood that her mom came over and helped me place.

And later that night, after her parents have gone home and we’ve tucked Nova into her new bed, we spend our first night of many in Gemma’s new bedroom, designing our future.