Never Giving Up (Never #3)(35)
My nerves spiked as Porter drove us down the gravel driveway that would lead us to our house. In the past weeks, I knew the house was getting closer to being complete, but Porter had many warnings of insulation and paint fumes and kept me off the property. I trusted him to build us an incredible house, so I wasn’t nervous about being kept out of the loop on decisions. Hell, if we could have just transplanted the beach house right here on our twenty acres on the outskirts of Salem, I would have. But if Porter could build a house that beautiful on his own, he didn’t need me meddling in the process.
So I let him design, build, and construct our house, only offering opinions when asked. Houses were his forte so I intended to let him shine. I knew I’d love whatever he conjured up and that notion extended to every aspect of our life. However, when his truck pulled around the bend in the road and our house came into view, there was nothing in my imagination that could have prepared me for the beauty of the structure.
“Oh my God, Porter!” I exclaimed, simply stunned by the finished product.
“You like it?”
My head snapped to the side to look at him.
“Like it? Porter, it’s incredible!”
“Ok, well, this is just the outside. I hope you like the inside too.”
My eyes took in the massive structure. Obviously, I had seen the house in its unfinished form, but not for a month or two. The driveway was circular and led up to the front of the house. There was a side road that led to the back of the house where I knew there was a three-car garage. The house was two stories tall and boasted tall arched accents with exposed beams. The wooden beams stood out against the warm yellow paint and cool-colored stonework that encased the bottom of the house.
The front door was wooden and matched the beams in color, a nearly red chestnut, and small path lights led you from the driveway right to the magnificent door.
Porter parked his truck and came around to open the door for me, lending me his hand, knowing full well that my equilibrium was off-kilter with the big, protruding baby belly I was now sporting. He helped me from the truck, but didn’t release my hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over my knuckles as we walked towards the house.
“It’s so beautiful, Porter. I can’t believe we get to live here.”
“It’s ready to go, all finished, we could move in tomorrow if we wanted.”
“Really?” My excitement was palpable. This would be our first real home together and I couldn’t wait to start the new chapter of our lives.
When we reached the front door he opened it but stopped me before I could go in. I laughed and yelped as he bent down and picked me up, one arm under my knees, the other behind my shoulders, carrying me over the threshold. When he put me down, all I could do was gawk at the gorgeous house. It reminded me a lot of the beach house with its open floor plan, but it was different still, newer and a little more modern. Where the beach house felt much like a beach house, this structure had more of a country feel.
The front door opened into an entryway with a built-in hall tree that I wanted to run my hands over. I could tell from looking at them that Porter had built them. He pulled me by the hand through the hallway and we entered into one great big room that was the living room, family room, and kitchen all combined into one.
Between the kitchen and the family room was a big island that had a tall counter that served as a breakfast bar. All the cabinets were the same wood that the beams outside were made of and the chestnut color was warm and comfortable. The kitchen boasted stainless steel appliances and I itched to cook in this kitchen.
“This is so incredible.” I spun around slowly, trying to take it all in. “And so big.”
“It’ll shrink down a little once we get some furniture in here. Come on,” he said, tugging on my hand, leading me up the stairs, “I’ve got something to show you.”
He led me slowly up the stairs, letting me take my time and admire his work. When we got to the master bedroom, he slowly pushed the door open and let me walk in first.
Of course Porter had something planned; he always had something planned. My heart lurched when I saw the picnic he’d prepared for us and my thoughts immediately went rushing back to all the romantic picnics he’d planned: the first one on the beach, the picnic we had while hiking Multnomah Falls, the picnic on the floor of Dahlia before it had opened when he proposed. Porter gave good picnic.
“Babe, this looks wonderful,” I said, my eyes sweeping through the room. Our room boasted a large gas fireplace and a cozy fire was lit, casting a romantic firelight over the room. On the floor there were blankets spread out with an abundance of pillows. A picnic basket sat in the middle of the blanket, along with an ice bucket with a bottle of sparkling cider and two champagne flutes.
“I made sure there were enough pillows because I know sitting on the floor won’t be comfortable for long, and that’s apple cider in there, not champagne.”
I giggled because he sounded nervous. I had never really seen Porter nervous before. Anxious, yes. Angry and protective, yes. But never really nervous. I found it to be terribly endearing.
“It looks incredible, Porter. You’re too sweet.”
“I just always want you to remember our first meal in our new home.”
All I could do was nod in response, my lower lip being worried in between my teeth, trying to keep my eyes from watering. How did I manage to find him? How in the world did I ever manage to live before him? I tried to shake away the feelings as he placed a soft kiss on my forehead. I looked up at him and smiled.