Every brushstroke feels like a small act of restoration for what had once been a devastating loss now turned into a well-deserved rebirth.
This project has been our secret since the moment we decided to stay in this sleepy little town for good.
To everyone else, we’re just taking our time “settling in”, ironing out details and finalizing paperwork to sell the ranch.
But in truth, every spare hour has gone into this place.
To Noelle’s shop and her dream, the thing she lost the night Jared shattered her peace.
Now we’re giving it back to her.
Rebuilding it from the inside out.
The bell above the door jingles faintly each time one of us steps out for supplies, and even that small sound feels like a heartbeat returning to a long-silent space.
The smell of sawdust and fresh paint fills the air, the floors gleam with a new coat of polish, and the sunlight slants through the front window, glinting off the glass ornaments saved during our cleanup.
My muscles ache in the kind of way that feels earned—tight shoulders, sore wrists, paint still speckled across my forearms.
It’s the kind of ache that reminds you what it means to build something not just for yourself, but for someone you love.
But even as I clean the paint roller and wipe the sweat from my brow, my mind keeps drifting to tomorrow.
New Year’s Eve.
Fireworks with Eli once it gets dark enough, his little mittened hands gripping sparklers and his bright laugh echoing in the cold.
Toasts later once he’s tucked in safe and warm upstairs, and then it will be just the four of us again.
It’s become our strange little tradition, this life we’ve carved together.
Unconventional, complicated, but whollyours.
I can already picture it: Noelle in that soft knit sweater she always wears when she’s had too much champagne, her cheeks flushed from laughter and heat.
Dean with his arm around her waist, murmuring something against her ear that makes her giggle.
Grant beside me, leaning back with that quiet, satisfied smile he gets when everything feels right in his world.
And later when the laughter fades and the house goes quiet, when the last of the fire dies in hearth, we’ll take her upstairs.
We’ll worship her the way we always do: with reverence, with hunger, with gratitude that she’s still ours after everything that’s happened.
It’s not about claiming her anymore.
It’s about belonging to her, to each other, and to this strange, beautiful thing we’ve built from the wreckage of our pasts.
That’s our way of ringing in the new year.
Not with resolutions or countdowns, but with closeness.
With a reminder that against all odds, we made it.
Selling the ranch, quitting our jobs, walking away from everything familiar had sounded impossible at first, but in the end it was the easiest thing we’ve ever done.
Because when you finally find something that feels like home, you don’t hesitate.
You just stay.
