“I think I knew I wanted you before I was even old enough to know what that meant,” Ash said. “I wanted this life. With you. The house and the dogs. When I left Owl Island, I left because I didn’t think I’d ever find that here. When I came back to take care of Mom, I thought I was giving up my chance of ever having it.”

Ash looked up at him, face shining with love.

“Truman, I love you so much. I never thought I could have this. And honestly, I’m scared of fucking up somehow and losing it. But I’m going to try so hard to be worthy of you. Of this.”

He patted the drawing.

Tears streaked down Truman’s face.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said, stroking Ash’s hair back. “You’re what I want. This.” He tapped the drawing too. “This is my dream too. I love you, and I love our life. I’m all in.”

Ash rolled him onto his back and into Ash’s arms, knocking over a candle.

“Please, please don’t let our sweet moment end in a fiery conflagration,” Truman said.

“I’ll show you a fiery conflagration,” Ash growled and kissed him. Their mouths met and Truman sank into the feeling of being touched by the man he loved, of hands and lips and tongues and smells that all said home.

Then he got a rock in his shoulder blade, and the tendrils of arousal that had begun to envelope him turned to pain.

“I love that kind of fiery conflagration, but also it’s so uncomfortable here. Wanna go home and make out in our own bed?”

As Truman said it, his heart swelled. No word had ever sounded sweeter than home, when home was with Ashleigh Sundahl.

“Yeah. But can we stay like this for just a little bit longer?” Ash asked, face nuzzled in Truman’s neck.

“As long as you want, love.”

Truman and Ash held each other in their private universe until the tide began to rise. Then they walked in silence, hand in hand, back home.

It wasn’t a drawing. It wasn’t a fantasy. It was love and trust and choice. It was a life they were building, day by day, flower by flower, together.

Chapter 33

Greta

Things grew like magic in New Orleans.

On Owl Island, Greta had required so much equipment to keep her plants alive, even inside. But in her community garden plot next to Veronica’s, they thrived on neglect. Her tropical, carnivorous beauties were finally where they were meant to be. And when you were where you were meant to be, life required far less effort.