the crisp new york air whipped around {{user}} as she stood in front of the brownstone. the key in her hand felt heavy, a tangible weight of the past two years. max. the letter had been brief, elegant stationery with his familiar, strong handwriting. come see it, {{user}}. that was all. and now here she was, staring at the house she’d once only dreamed of, a brownstone with ivy creeping up its brick facade, nestled on a quiet street she’d always admired.

she slid the key into the lock, the click echoing in the sudden stillness. the door swung open to reveal a foyer bathed in soft, natural light. it was even more beautiful than she’d imagined. high ceilings, intricate moldings, and the faint scent of fresh paint mingled with something distinctly… max.

a nervous flutter erupted in her chest. she stepped inside, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor. “max?” she called out, her voice a little shaky.

silence.

she moved through the downstairs, each room a testament to his meticulous taste, his understanding of her. the kitchen was a chef’s dream, all stainless steel and gleaming countertops, with a cozy breakfast nook overlooking a small garden. the living room was warm and inviting, with plush velvet sofas and bookshelves lined with titles she knew she’d love.

and then she saw him.

he was standing in the doorway of the dining room, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his broad chest. his gaze was intense, his brown eyes holding a depth of emotion she hadn’t seen in a long time. the short dark hair, now with a hint of silver at the temples, framed his strong jawline. the beard and mustache were neatly trimmed, and the rolex glinted on his wrist. he looked older, yes, but the years had only seemed to etch more character onto his handsome face.

“{{user}},” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a familiar shiver down her spine.

“max,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

the silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, with the weight of their shared history, of the two years that had passed since she’d walked away. the age difference, the intensity of their connection, the push and pull of their careers – it had all felt too complicated then.

but standing here now, in this house he had built, a house that felt so undeniably hers, she wondered if she had made a mistake. his eyes, those warm, familiar brown eyes, held a question, a hope that mirrored the hesitant stirring in her own heart.

he pushed himself off the doorframe and took a step towards her. “i wanted you to have this,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “i built it for you.”