“Me too,” she said softly.
The pasta plates sat empty,sauce streaks glinting in the soft kitchen light.
Lauren leaned back against her chair, full and warmed from wine. Tom was clearing the dishes, sleeves still rolled.
“This was…” She hesitated, smiling despite everything. “Good. Really good.”
He looked over his shoulder, mock-serious. “I take my carbs seriously.”
She laughed—the sound felt strange and free.
He wiped his hands on a towel, then hesitated. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to show you.”
She straightened, suddenly alert. “Okay…”
Tom disappeared down the hall and came back holding a set of oversized printouts, the edges curled from the printer’s feed.
He spread the sheets across the island, weighing the corners down with salt and pepper shakers.
Her chest tightened.Oh God.She remembered evenings just like this in their first apartment: him excitedly unrolling plans across the table, her leaning in, pretending to understand his neat lines and measurements.
Now, he looked almost shy. “I, um… this isn’t for a client.”
Lauren blinked. “Okay…”
“It’s for you,” he said quietly.
Her heart tripped. “For me?”
He nodded, smoothing the paper flat. “I want to make you a real workspace. Not just the attic. Something built properly.”
Lauren stared down at the plans.
At first, all she saw were lines and measurements—his world rendered in precise, printed detail. But then she noticed the details. The wide window. Built-in shelves that ran along the far wall. A little nook tucked in one corner.
“Tom…” she whispered.
He didn’t even know. He didn’t know that she already had clients. A website. That her inbox was full of strangers who wanted her work, who paid her more money than she’d ever imagined anyone would pay for her “little crafts.”
Her eyes blurred before she could stop it.
This was the man she loved. This was the man she had married. This was the man she was going to take back.
Lauren traced a fingertip along the edge of the printed design. “You thought about everything.”
He looked serious. “I thought aboutyou.”
Her chest ached.
“I love it,” she said softly. “Don’t change a thing.”
His eyes met hers, and he looked… proud. Not of himself. Ofher.
Lauren looked back down at the plans—sunlight, open space, possibility.
Her future, right there in pencil and paper.
Lauren couldn’t stop tracing the lines with her fingertips, couldn’t stop looking at what he’d made for her. When she finally lifted her gaze, Tom was watching her—that soft, unguarded look she’d almost forgotten.
