The gravel driveway curved through the trees for nearly a mile before the house finally appeared.
Lila Bennett let the car roll to a stop and simply stared, one hand unconsciously resting on her son's knee beside her. The Victorian stood three stories tall, painted the softest shade of periwinkle, with a wrap-around porch that seemed to smile at them. Morning glories climbed the columns in riotous purple. Sunlight poured through the stained-glass fanlight above the door and scattered colored diamonds across the hood of their old station wagon.
Noah's mouth was slightly open. He still clutched Mr. Fluffle (the threadbare stuffed rabbit) against his chest the way he had since he was three. At eighteen he was taller than his mother now, all long limbs and shy eyes, but right then he looked exactly like the little boy who used to hide behind her legs at the grocery store.
"Mommy," he whispered, the childhood name slipping out without thought, "it's like a fairy tale."
Lila's heart did the funny little flip it always did when he called her that. She squeezed his knee.
"It's ours now, baby," she said softly. "All ours. No one else for miles and miles."
They climbed out into warm June air that smelled of honeysuckle and sun-baked pine needles. The realtor had left the keys under the mat weeks ago; no one hurried about anything this far up the mountain.
Inside, the house greeted them like it had been waiting.
Polished hardwood floors, a staircase that curved like a hug, tall windows that turned the dust motes into tiny floating stars. The master bedroom on the second floor made them both stop in the doorway: a massive four-poster bed draped in white lace, a fireplace big enough to stand in, and French doors that opened onto a private balcony overlooking nothing but wildflowers and sky.
Noah set Mr. Fluffle carefully on the pillow, then turned in a slow circle.
"It's too pretty to wear shoes in," he said, and before Lila could answer he was toeing off his sneakers, then his socks, then (after the tiniest hesitation and a shy glance at her) his T-shirt.
Lila smiled. They had always been close (closer than most, she knew people whispered), but the last few months of packing and grief after her mother's death had stripped away the last pretense of distance. At home they'd already started wandering around in just underwear on hot evenings, or nothing at all when it was only the two of them.
She kicked off her own sandals, then reached for the hem of her sundress.
"Just us, sweetheart," she said gently. "No one to see, no one to judge. Let's make this house feel like home from the very first day."
The dress pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it in only pale-blue cotton panties, then those too. Noah's eyes flicked over her (quick, reverent, then away), cheeks pink, but he followed her lead. Jeans, boxers, everything folded neatly on the window seat until mother and son stood naked in the golden morning light, breathing the same wondering breath.
Lila opened her arms.
"Come here, baby."
Noah crossed the room in three long strides and folded himself into her embrace like he was still small enough to be carried. She held him tight, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other stroking down the bare skin of his back. His cheek rested naturally between her breasts; she felt his shaky exhale against her heart.
"I'm scared and happy at the same time," he mumbled into her skin.
"I know, love," she whispered, kissing his hair. "Mommy's got you. This is our safe place now. Forever and ever."
They stayed like that a long time, swaying slightly, sunlight warming their bare bodies, the big bed waiting patiently behind them.
Eventually Lila pulled back just enough to cup his face.
"First rule of our new house," she said, smiling through sudden tears. "Clothes optional, cuddles mandatory."
Noah laughed (a soft, startled sound) and nodded.
"Second rule," she continued, guiding him gently backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed, "whenever you feel anxious, you come find Mommy and we'll make it better exactly like we always have."
He sat, then lay back among the pillows, eyes huge and trusting. Lila climbed in after him, pulled the lace-trimmed sheet up to their waists, and drew him against her side. His head found its familiar spot on her breast; one of her legs slipped between his.
Outside, a breeze moved the curtains and sent colored light dancing over their bare skin.
Inside, mother and son curled together in the four-poster bed that was already theirs, hearts beating in the same slow rhythm, the rest of the world suddenly very far away.
Noah's fingers traced a shy circle around her nipple.
"Mommy?" he whispered.
"Yes, baby?"
"I think the house likes us."
Lila smiled, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and felt something inside her chest click into place (like the last puzzle piece of a picture she hadn't known she was assembling).
"I think it chose us," she answered.
And under the lace canopy, in the hush of their very first morning, she held her grown son close and let the summer begin.