Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(44)

“All set?” he asked.

He slung the two large bags over his shoulder like a modern-day Kris Kringle—a really hot one.

I smiled, trying to rid the naughty thoughts from my head, and just nodded.

“You’re picturing me as Santa, aren’t you?”

“Totally am.”

“That’s a little creepy.”

“You asked.” I laughed.

“Come on. Let’s go deliver these and see our family.”

The drive seemed never-ending as I anxiously sat in the passenger side of the car, watching the busy city slowly give way to rolling hills and sleepy houses. The sky appeared, making its presence known with an abundance of twinkling stars. Stars were such a rarity in the city—always outshined by the bright lights and the tall, towering buildings. Here, in the country, where things were a bit simpler—one could sit back and enjoy what nature had created.

New York was an amazing place to live. Each day was slightly different from the day before even if you’d set out with the intention to do the same dull old thing. That was what I loved about it—the sense of adventure that was always lying in wait, ready to sweep me off my heels and show me something new. It was never dull, never boring.

But there were times when I would grow restless, tired of the noise and the incessant rush.

One day, I knew we’d eventually leave the city and settle someplace less hectic, more peaceful—maybe a place that reminded Jude of the calm quiet of Iceland or the serene beauty of the Seychelles or perhaps somewhere that encompassed the beauty he’d fallen so madly in love with in Santorini.

I’d nearly traveled the world now with Jude by my side. We’d lived on either side of the country—the laid-back beach life of California and the unyielding business world of New York—and it all boiled down to this. It didn’t matter where we were, here or across the world in a foreign land.

As long as we were together, we were always home.

The car shifted slightly as Jude pulled off the main road before pushing the code to enter the gate. The first time I’d visited the country estate Jude’s family owned, I’d been intimidated, seeing the large wrought iron gate that gave way to a tree-lined pathway. But as we’d driven, Jude had begun telling me stories of his childhood. He’d pointed out the places he used to hide and the gardens he’d helped his mother tend. He’d shared how one summer, long ago, he and Roman had thought it would be a good idea to go bike riding together—using only one bike. He’d gotten paper in a grueling rock-paper-scissors match, and since Roman’s scissor had cut his paper, Jude had been the lucky one to ride on the handlebars.

“I would think he would have wanted to do that?” I asked.

“And risk his pretty face? No way,” he answered, looking doubtful.

“So, what happened?”

“Well, we were riding up and down this very road, having a blast, until we hit a rock or a ditch. I can’t remember. All I know is, we went down—hard. I got road burn like you wouldn’t believe. The curse words that flew out of Roman’s preadolescent mouth were impressive even then.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, and I waited for him to continue.

“I tried to get up but realized my foot was wedged in the bicycle spokes. Roman looked down and panicked, screaming that Mom was going to kill us.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“Left me,” he answered, a smug grin on his face.

“He did not!”

“Oh, he did. Left me right there in the middle of the road. But to his credit, he went to get help, so I forgave him—for that, at least.”

“Boys,” I said, shaking my head.

“They’re the worst.”

After hearing his harrowing stories and adventures here as a boy, the big mountain of a house hadn’t felt so dominating anymore, and I’d eased into the warmth and homey-feeling Jude’s mother had infused into the dwelling over the years. Even my own mother, who had spent the majority of her life living in apartments less than a thousand square feet, had found the house charming and wonderful.

She was the first person I saw when we entered the living room, and my heart soared. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her.

“Hi, Mom,” I said softly.

She held out her arms, touching me, as her eyes swept over my features. “You’re so tan!” she exclaimed. She sucked in a laugh as she pulled me toward her.

“Not really,” I answered. “Maybe a little less pale?”

“Well, you look beautiful, whatever it is.”

We finished our reunion, and my attention quickly turned to Marcus, who was patiently waiting his turn. He held up his arm, the sleeve rolled up to his elbow, and he compared our skin tones. His Latino blood mixed with his love for surfing made me look like a ghost.

“See, Mom? Definitely not tan.”

We all joined in a round of chuckles as Marcus pulled me into his arms.

“Good to see you, kid. We’ve missed you.”

“Did you get my postcards?” I asked them both.

“Oh, yes. One actually arrived on Christmas Eve, the one from Iceland. Did you really see the Northern Lights?” my mother asked.

We sat down on the couch.

I nodded, catching Jude’s grin, as he finished adding our presents to the pile under the massive Christmas tree that was still up just for us. Then, he sat with us on the couch. Jude’s mother entered, greeting everyone, and soon, we were all chatting away about the honeymoon adventures abroad.