Ignite (Legacy) by Rebecca Yarros Page A

sighed.
    Wow, indeed. We made our way up the lengthy driveway and parked. It was log-cabin style, similar to my house back in Alaska but bigger.
    “He said it was new construction,” I told her as we got out of the Jeep. “Landscaping isn’t finished.”
    She looked around the front yard. “You’d have to put in some beds there. I could plant some gorgeous flowers. The tall kind that would bring color up to the porch level.”
    I intertwined our fingers as we took the steps up to the porch. “Rocking chairs?” I asked.
    She shook her head. “A swing.”
    “A swing,” I agreed as I punched the code into the lock box. It popped open and I turned the handle. Then, before I could stop to think, I swung Avery up into my arms, her weight slight against my chest.
    “River!” She laughed. “We’re not married.”
    “Pretend, remember?”
    She looped her arms around my neck as I carried her inside. “Wow,” she said.
    “You already said that,” I told her as we both took it in.
    “I might say it about twelve more times.”
    The entry and great room were open to the second floor, where there was a walkway that connected one suite of rooms to the others above us. There were more windows than walls, all looking out over the mountain range and forest.
    “It’s like we’re the only ones on the planet,” she said as I set her down. We walked over the hardwood floors of what was staged as the living room, to take in the views from the windows and sliding door to the deck.
    “Want to explore?”
    She nodded in excitement and took off. As was par for the course in my life, all I could do was follow her.
    There was a gourmet kitchen with full appliances, a dining room, a full, finished walk-out basement, and that was before we headed upstairs. The entire house had been staged to sell, and even though the furniture wasn’t exactly my style, the space was.
    “Wow,” Avery said again as we walked into the master bedroom. It was separated from the other three by the bridge we’d passed under downstairs. There was a bed against the far wall, two walk-in closets, a giant master bath, and an entire wall of windows that looked over the mountains, mirroring the downstairs. A door led out to a private balcony, and we stepped onto it, both leaning against the railing that held us three stories up.
    “I’ve never seen something so beautiful,” she said, tucking the stray strands of her topknot behind her ears.
    “Me either,” I said, never looking away from her. She was still my Avery, but here, she felt freer, less burdened. I couldn’t help but wonder how she would bloom if she were allowed the freedom to define who she was without others telling her.
    “I can see it,” she said softly, turning to face me.
    “See what?” I was desperate to know how she envisioned life, what this house, this place looked like through her eyes, because all I saw was her.
    “I can see living here. I could work at the newspaper office, and Addy could go to the high school. I see the fresh start as clearly as I can smell the new paint, and it’s…”
    “Scary?” I offered.
    “Beautiful. It’s such a beautiful picture. I can see you here, cooking in that kitchen, waking me up in the mornings with soft kisses.”
    “That’s exactly what I want,” I said.
    “This house is you. You should take it.” Her profile was framed by the sun-kissed strands of blonde in the afternoon light as she looked out over the sizeable backyard that ended in forest—trees and the mountains I loved almost as much as I loved her.
    “This house could be us,” I said, taking her hand. “I want you here, sleeping in that bedroom. Kissing me in the kitchen, racked out on the couch while we binge-watch something awful on Netflix. I want to explore these mountains with you, talk to you, laugh with you, make love to you.” I brought her fingers to my mouth, kissing each one as her lips parted. “I want to make a life with you here. It’s not just about