“So,” I say, trying to bring lightness back to our conversation, “how have you been finding your art classes?”
She grins. “They’ve been challenging and exhilarating. I’ve learned that creating something feels deeply fulfilling, more than I’d ever anticipated.”
Her passion flows freely, and it stirs something within me. “You’ve always had that spark in you,” I say encouragingly. “What about more exhibitions? Have you thought about it?”
“I have,” she replies, the glow of pride coloring her cheeks. “It feels daunting, but I think it might be time to share what I’ve created with the world. I’m not sure how to go about it.”
“Whatever you decide, I’m proud of you. You saw how the community reacted to your last one. You deserve to showcase your talent.”
As we finish tidying, she casually mentions the bathroom sink has been leaking.
“I can take a look at it,” I offer, my voice steady, wanting to avoid grand gestures but knowing I can help in this small way.
“Are you sure?” she asks, a hint of surprise flickering across her face.
“Absolutely.” The truth is, I want to be involved in every way possible, even if it’s just fixing a leak in our home. “Let me run to the car. I have a tool bag in the car.”
“Okay.”
After heading to the bathroom, I kneel before the sink. When I pull open the cabinet doors, the smell of damp wood and bleach hits me. I lay out the tools I borrowed from Elias, metal clinking against the tile.
The plumbing is a mess. It’s a tangle of corroded traps and haphazard lines—nothing like the clean, logical blueprints I used to draw. Rust flakes off as I run a hand over the trap. I take a breath, feeling the cramp in my shoulder.
I locate the leak. Water beads at a joint.
“Come on,” I mutter, fitting the wrench around the nut.
The metal is slick and stubborn. I wipe sweat from my brow with my forearm, leaving a streak of grease behind. This isn’t theoretical. It isn’t a draft on a screen. It’s cold, wet, and frustrating.
Movement catches my eye. I glance over to find Margot leaning against the doorframe. She watches me, eyes narrowed but not unkind. I’m lying on her floor, shirt ruined in a puddle, wrestling with a pipe. I offer a tight smile and turn back to the work.
She doesn’t speak. She stays there, a quiet presence in the doorway while I put my weight into the wrench.
“You know,” I say, my voice echoing in the small cabinet, “I never really grasped the difference between designing and building until now. Fixing a sink is a world apart from drawing blueprints.”
“It must be satisfying,” she says, her voice soft. “Seeing the result immediately.”
“Exactly.” I grit my teeth and give the wrench another hard twist. “There’s value in being hands-on. In making something work.”
The nut screeches, metal against metal, then finally gives. I tighten the new seal, knuckles grazing the rough wood of the cabinet.
One last check. I turn the shut-off valve. Silence. The dripping has stopped.
I sit up, wiping my hands on a rag, and turn on the faucet. Water flows smooth and contained. No leaks.
“Got it,” I say, the tension in my chest uncoiling.
Margot steps closer as I gather the tools. Her smile is genuine.
“Thank you,” she says. “You made it feel like a home again.”
The words land heavy and sweet. I look up at her. “I’m here, Margot. I’m committed.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. “Would you like to stay for another glass of wine?”
I nod, standing to brush the dust from my knees. “I’d like that very much.”
Chapter 23
