Page 48 of My Unscripted Life

Milo takes my hand, the familiar calluses on his fingertips brushing along my skin. I hop down from the passenger seat, my feet landing squarely in damp dirt driveway.

“What are we doing here?”

Milo looks at the house, then back at me, practically knocking me back with the depth of his gaze. He bites his lip, then takes a deep breath. “I wanted to show you my new place.”

My head snaps toward him so fast that my hair whips around and sticks to my glossed lips, which are parted in shock. I sweep it away, my hand lingering on my cheek as I try to compute what he’s just said.His new…Does he mean…?

I look back at the house, and I suddenly realize what looked different. It’s so obvious I can’t believe I missed it. The ancient plywood that covered the windows on the first floor is gone. Now you can see the rows of floor-to-ceiling french windows, all flanked by tall black shutters, that run along the front of the house. And they’re new. Clean. Freshly installed. They sparkle in the moonlight. It takes my breath away.

“How?” is all I can manage, as I keep looking from Milo to the house and back again.

Milo starts toward the porch, still holding my hand, so I shuffle along behind him. We climb up on the steps, still crooked and sinking.

“I called the owner and asked him what he wanted for it. Then I offered him a little bit more to make the deal happen quickly,” he says, and the glint in his eye from earlier is now a full-on light show. He’s practically glowing, between his eyes and his smile and the light from the moon. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “You’re looking at the new owner of Westfell Grove.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper. There are sparklers in my chest crackling and popping, burning a growing heat that’s rising through my body up to my brain.

Milo’s smile falters. “Are you good surprised? Or creeped-out surprised?”

“Good surprised!” I practically shriek the words, the full meaning of what he’s done washing over me. The house is his. He has a place here. A place with me. “Definitely good.”

His smile widens until it practically glows brighter than the fireflies.

“I’m just completely shocked. I was planning on asking you tonight when you were leaving, but I guess not?”

Even though this is all but an answer, I still need him to confirm it. I need him to say it. I look into his eyes, and when he shakes his head, I swear my heart turns a cartwheel. I fling myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and practically tackling him with such force that he lets out anoofof breath. The porch railing creaks behind him.

“Careful, I haven’t done any work on the exterior except for the windows,” he says, his voice muffled in my hair. When I finally release him, he smiles. “I’m glad you’re happy. I was a little worried you were going to be freaked out. But this summer, with you, out here, I felt free. Like I didn’t have to duck or hide. I realized I can’t go back to LA.”

It’s real.

“So you’re staying here,” I say, waiting to hear one last time for the cheap seats in the back.

“I’m staying here,” he says. “I mean, I’ve got to go back to LA to pack up. I’m keeping my house for when I need to be there, and also because my accountant told me not to sell it. And obviously I need to do some serious remodeling of this place before I can move in. But yeah, I’m staying.”

I can’t keep my mouth from hanging open in a wide smile. It’s just too good. Better than I’d hoped.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He trots back to the truck and pulls out a cardboard tube from behind the seat. He pops the top off and pulls out a roll of papers, which he unrolls on the hood of the truck. They’re blueprints, the top one of the front of the house as it will look when it’s restored. No more crooked shutters, no more missing panes of glass, no more sagging porch.

“So I’m going to have them restore it as close to its original beauty as possible, with a few upgrades, of course,” he says.

“You mean like central air?” The sun may have set, but it still feels like a sauna out here.

He laughs. “That, and I’m going to put a studio here.” He points to an outbuilding that’s been added to the back of the property. “Screw my label. I’m going to do the album that I want, now and forever, even if the only person who listens to the music is you.”

I shake my head, trying to wrap my brain around what’s happening, but all I can focus on is the tally of kisses. It’s just gotten much, much larger. As I rise up on my tiptoes to kiss him, the number doesn’t subtract.

This one is a freebie.