Both voices call out in unison as I reach the top of the stairs, and I freeze in the doorway to what used to be my disaster of a bedroom.
Holy shit.
This isn't my bedroom anymore. This is... an actual adult bedroom. A real one.
Where my mattress used to sit sad and alone on the floor, there's now a massive king-size bed with a proper frame. Dark wood that looks expensive and substantial, topped with crisp white linens and throw pillows. So many damn throw pillows.
Matching nightstands flank either side, each topped with elegant lamps that cast warm light across walls that are no longer bare. A dozen or so framed photos line the dresser, filled with pictures of me, of my family, of moments I didn't even know someone had captured with a lens.
Blackout curtains frame the windows but remain open, and through the clean glass, I can see our oak tree perfectly, like the whole room has been designed around that view.
"You two did all this?" I manage to say, albeit with a crack in my voice.
Mia steps toward me, worry creasing her brow. She's wearing paint-splattered jeans and one of my t-shirts, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that makes her look like she's been working hard all week.
And for once, it doesn't look like that hard work has been at the shelter.
"Bear and Marcus helped with the heavy lifting," she says quickly, like she's worried I might be upset. "But I wanted to... I mean, we thought maybe it was time you had an actual bedroom instead of a camping situation."
I look around again, taking in every detail.
The attention to everything—from the way she's positioned the dresser where I never imagined it, to the small reading chair in the corner that's perfectly angled toward both the window and the bed.
This isn't just furniture in the right place or on the right angle.
This is a vision of our life together. All made real while I was away playing hockey in cities that suddenly feel impossibly far from here.
"Do you like it?" Mia's voice is small, uncertain, and I realize I've been standing here staring in silence for too long.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around her, lifting her off her feet. She squeals, her laughter loud against my ear.
For a moment, everything else falls away.
It's just her. Just me. Just this.
"I love it," I breathe against her neck, spinning her around until she laughs. "I love you. I can't believe you did this, babe. I just can't believe it."
Mom clears her throat delicately from where she's been watching our reunion with obvious satisfaction. "Well, I think that's my cue to head home and let you two catch up properly."
She kisses my cheek as she passes, then whispers just loud enough for Mia to hear, "The rest of the house looks pretty good too, dear. You might want to take a full tour."
The rest of the house?
"Mom, what—"
But she shushes me and turns, already heading downstairs, calling over her shoulder, "Dinner Sunday at six! I expectbothof you to be there."
The front door closes, leaving us alone in our transformed bedroom.
Ourbedroom.
"Mia," I start, but she's already pulling away, nervous energy radiating off her in waves.
"I know it's a lot, and maybe I overstepped, but you said you bought this house for us, and I just thought—"
I silence her with a kiss, pouring every ounce of gratitude and love and overwhelming emotion into the contact. She melts against me immediately, her hands fisting in my coat.
Shit. My coat.
