ONE YEAR LATER

    I hadn’t worn a tux since my brother’s high-school graduation party (Mama insisted on ck tie), and even then, I think the bow tie was permanently crooked and the jacket didn’t fit right.

    Tonight, though I’d cleaned up…or rather Naomi had made sure I had.

    I looked sharp.

    Cor straight.

    Cuffs with cufflinks. A gift.

    Regardless of how I dressed, I feltpletely out of my depth.

    The Preservation Society of New Orleans was honoring me for my work restoring several 19th-century structures across the Quarter. I’d been featured in a handful of architectural journals over the past year. Even got my first nationalmission. There were some in New Orleans who’d started calling me an “artisan”.

    What bullshit!

    But…no matter the reason, it was glorious walking into the ballroom with Naomi Lenc on my arm.

    She was a vision in ck silk and diamond drop earrings, her hair swept up, her orange blossom perfume making it hard for me to think straight.

    She wasn’t just beautiful, she was radiant.

    This past year of being part of the Walker family, of feeling secure, had freed something inside of her.

    “Feels weird, baby,” I whispered.

    Naomi looked at me like she’d known this version of me was possible all along. “It’s going to be fine. Hell, Gage, it’s going to be fun.”

    It was, and it wasn’t.

    People gave lots of speeches.

    I ended up shaking more hands in two hours than I had in thest ten years.

    Before they presented my award, they showed slides of the Lafitte House, the Chartres cottages, and a few others I’d worked on.

    My parents gushed, even Dad, who usually shrugged most things off, was impressed as hell. He took a gazillion pictures and sent them to everyone in the family and all his friends.

    When my name was called, and the apuse rose like a wave, I nearly froze.

    Naomi squeezed my hand, pride in her eyes. “Go on, darlin’, go get what’s yours.”

    I no longer felt the need to be strong and stoic with her.

    I could be vulnerable.

    I could be scared.

    I could be weak.

    Because she loved me no matter what.

    I kissed her knuckles and walked to the podium, heart in my throat. I didn’t say much when they handed me the award and offered me the microphone.

    I thanked the people who trusted me to restore history, my father who taught me everything, Naomi who stood by me, and finished by saying, “New Orleans taught me that the past doesn’t need recing—it just needs restoring. If you give it care, give it vision, the old starts breathing again. You just have to love it enough to try.”

    I looked at her then, and she smiled.

    I swear the room faded out like an old record ending on a single, perfect note.

    After dinner, while my parents danced, Naomi and I slipped into the courtyard, away from the champagne and the cameras.

    The trees were strung with LED lights.

    Gasmps hissed softly.

    The fountain trickled in the background.

    Somewhere, someone yed a trumpet.

    We were standing beneath a wrought-iron balcony when a woman passing by said appreciatively to Naomi, “You look gorgeous, honey.”

    Naomiughed and waved her off, but something about it stuck in my chest.

    I had nned to do this in Paris—when we finally got there, which was going to be real soon. We hadn’t been able to go this past year because we both got busy.

    But somehow, right now felt like the right time.

    I turned to her.

    Heart pounding.

    Palms suddenly damp.

    “Baby.” I took her hand. “I didn’t get you a ring.”

    She tilted her head. “Huh?”

    “I didn’t get you a ring,” I repeated, stepping in close, “because you’re not something I want to own.”

    Her eyes flickered—soft, knowing.

    “But if you want forever,” I added, “I’ll give you all I’ve got.”

    She didn’t look surprised. She smiled. “I wanted forever with you before you even believed in it.”

    Then she reached into her clutch and pulled out a small velvet box.

    My heart stopped. “What is that?”

    Sheughed, that deep, knowingugh I’d missed every day I was too stupid to stay and make her mine. “We both seem to have had the same idea. Open it.”

    Inside was a tinum tie clip in the shape of the Lafitte House.

    I lifted it out, turned it over in my palm, and engraved on the back was a tiny sketch, barely recognizable, of the blueprint for the Lafitte House.

    This was the first job site I took her to. The first time I saw her fall a little bit in love with what I did. Maybe with me.

    “So, you never forget the foundation we started on,” she exined softly.

    She put it on mypel. I stroked it with shaky fingers, and then kissed her in the courtyard, under a sky full of ghosts and music and second chances.