I'm also impressed. “I can't believe you were able to make all of this happen in the months since you left Delaware.”

Waylon shrugs again. “Shit like this is easy for me.”

“Constructing a whole town in under a year is easy for you?” I repeat, tone disbelieving.

“Yeah, easy,” he repeats back. “Once I know what I want, it’s just a matter of figuring out how to get it.”

He looks down at me with that hungry tiger blaze in his eyes as he says this. He’s so obviously not talking about his extraordinary construction project.

I have to look away. “Well, it's beautiful here, I just don’t….”

I bring my cowardly eyes back up to meet his. “I still don't understand why you didn't just tell me. Why would you keep all of this a secret?”

“Because the best part wasn't ready,” he answers. “It still isn't fully ready. The road crew hasn't gotten to this part yet. We’re going to have to walk in. Come on.”

As the sun continues to set overhead, he takes my hand in his rough, callused one and leads me down the dirt path, which veers off into the woods.

This just goes to prove that curiosity is one hell of a drug. There’s no other reason why I, a city girl born and raised, would've agreed to be led directly into the woods by someone who's proven himself to be firmly on the predator side of the food chain.

But all fears and misgivings disappear from my head when I see the sight at the end of the tree-lined road.

There’s a gorgeous pond sparkling under the setting sun—I’m assuming this is the one the town was named after. It’s a clearwater marvel with ducks swimming around in it in those plants that kind of look like burnt corndogs, lining the edges. I think they’re called cattails?

Again, city girl, who’s never even been camping. I wouldn’t know for sure.

But the gorgeous pond isn’t what stops me in my tracks.

No, that would be the structure sitting right next to it.

A house.

But not just any house. It's two stories and painted a bright buttery yellow.

And it looks exactly like the one in the painting I bought of my dream house.

CHAPTER 14

It's the house.

The perfect two-story yellow house.

The dream house in my painting.

I stand there. Frozen and unable to believe what I’m looking at—not until the very real biker beside me squeezes my hand and says, “Come on.”

We walk through the gorgeous blue door of the house that used to only exist in my painting into a very real interior. It has all the things. Rustic gray and brown barnyard floors. Linen white walls that still smell faintly of paint. And just enough furniture to make it livable.