Keaton leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, the brick is starting to get brittle in spots, and we’d have to figure out how to prep the walls and then seal the paintings after so they won’t chip. It would be much easier to build canvases out of MDO.”
He thought about Jules working on touch-ups this afternoon, wondering if that was because no one had considered the pitfalls of placing art directly on the façade of the buildings.
“And you think that’s a better option than Baltic birch or a hardwood ply?” Once upon a time, being questioned on his choice would have sent Keaton into a spiral, worried his father disagreed with him. Now he realized it was a subtle way of making sure he’d considered all options.
“I thought about those, but the MDO gives a smoother surface for painting.” He didn’t tell his dad that he’d not onlythoughtabout the best materials but had gone down a rabbit hole, trying to confirm his decisions. To do so would be admitting he was invested in the outcome of this project beyond just celebrating his sister’s success.
His dad seemed to consider that and nodded slowly. “That’s definitely a consideration that I’m sure the artists will appreciate. And how do you plan to build them?”
Keaton went on to explain how they’d be modular, with each sheet having its own mounting system. His dad seemedimpressed as Keaton explained how this would allow for easier maintenance in the future because they could pull down the panels that needed to be worked on, rather than worrying about something larger and unwieldy.
At some point, his mom and Paige both made their way inside, and he assumed Paige had taken off. But for once, he didn’t feel like he needed to rush out of there to get more work done before flopping into bed. Maybe handing off a little more responsibility to Luke and Finn had been a good idea.
When Keaton finally left, he found himself driving slowly down Main Street. It was a shame no one had thought about the canvases for the first group of murals. As he looked up at the second story of one building, he shuddered as he remembered the artist using a scissor lift on the roof of the building next to it to paint everything. That would have been so much easier, not to mention safer, with a portable framework.
He rolled up to the stop sign in front of Brew & Barrel and debated going in for a drink. He’d never tell Luke and Finn, but he’d been in a few times when they weren’t with him, so he could get a little pick-me-up from Jules, the adorable server who made no secret of the crush they had on him. But Jules deserved someone who could show them the attention they deserved, and Keaton wasn’t in a place yet where he could do that.
Maybe someday…
As he sat there, a figure emerged from the alley beside the building. In the glow of the streetlight, Keaton could make out paint-splattered jeans and a worn canvas jacket, a portfolio tucked under one arm. Jules paused, looking up at the blank wall above the coffee shop, then pulled out a phone and snapped a quick photo.
Keaton felt something shift inside him, like that crack in his wall suddenly widening, letting in a draft of something unexpected.
Maybe it was time to let a little imperfection into his life after all.
TWO
Jules’s brush danced across the canvas, trying to perfectly capture the way morning light filtered through the old tree outside their window. They’d been working since shortly after waking up, lost in the rhythm of creation, when their mom’s voice cut through their concentration.
“Jules!” The call from downstairs was sharp and cheerful in a way that always meant business. The screen door slapped against the frame as it closed behind her. “Can you come outside for a sec?”
Their hand froze mid-stroke, hovering just above the canvas. They’d been so absorbed in their work that they’d lost track of time.
“Coming!” they called back, setting down the brush with reluctance. The half-finished painting would have to wait—something in their mom’s tone suggested this wasn’t going to be a quick check-in.
Around them, paint-splattered canvases leaned against every wall like silent companions, some half-finished, others barelybegun. Brushes stood in mason jars, their bristles stiff with remnants of dried acrylics in colors that didn’t exist in nature. Sketchbooks with dog-eared pages spilled across the dresser, while tubes of paint and charcoal sticks claimed territory on every flat surface. The room breathed creativity—chaotic, unfiltered, alive. A thrift shop aesthetic collided with an artist’s studio, creating a space that was uniquely, unapologetically Jules. They wouldn’t have it any other way.
Since moving back to Maple Hill, they’d had the freedom to explore their art, and since last year’s mural project, they’d had a few people commission custom projects. It wasn’t enough to quit their job at Brew & Barrel, but it was something. As much as they hated to admit it, they’d be struggling to make ends meet if their parents hadn’t been cool with them moving back into their childhood bedroom following a year spent picking up odd jobs while traveling the country.
Jules stared out the window, watching their mom gather eggs from the coop while their dad worked on one of the fences. There was a serenity on the farm that was hard to describe, a kind of peacefulness that seeped into their bones and made everything feel just a little bit lighter.
This was home—messy, alive, theirs.
But lately, something in the air felt…off. Like the restlessness that usually fueled their creativity had shifted into something heavier, something that pressed in when they paused too long. Change was circling, and Jules could feel it like the low rumble of a distant storm. Not knowing where the vibes were coming from unsettled Jules. They weren’t a fan of the unknown, and the idea of it crept into their thoughts like a shadow on a sunny day.
Their parents had abandoned their morning chores and were now standing at the edge of the porch as Jules approached. Their faces held something beyond the usual morning greeting—anticipation? Nerves? The sight made Jules’s stomach twist with unease. Their dad nodded toward one of the nearby chairs as he slipped a hand onto his wife’s back. The two of them were definitely nervous about something, which made Jules’s anxiety ratchet up a notch.
“Morning,” their dad said, brushing dirt from his hands. The earthy smell clung to him, a reminder of all the times Jules had followed him around the farm, mimicking his every move. “We’ve got news to share with you.”
Jules blinked, suddenly aware of how vulnerable they felt in yesterday’s oversized sweatshirt. “Okay…” Their dad’s stilted tone had Jules on edge. They braced themselves for the worst as they studied both of their parents, fear welling in their stomach that one of them was terminally ill or something.
“We’ve decided to sell the farm.” Their mom’s voice was soft, yet the words felt like a sudden gust of wind, threatening to knock Jules off-balance. She shifted from one foot to the other, unable to make eye contact.
The words landed like a dropped canvas—quiet, but still jarring. Jules felt their heart stutter, their breath catching in their throat. “What? You’re serious?”
Tears welled in their eyes as they stared at the landscape beyond the porch. In their enclosures, the goats and chickens went about their day, oblivious to the fact that their caretakers were abandoning them. In that moment, Jules felt an odd kinship with the animals. They couldn’t believe this was happening,couldn’t fathom the thought of not being able to walk the trails their dad kept mowed around the property after a rough day.
They’d known better than to take for granted that the home they’d always known would be waiting for them might not be someday. Jules knew they should feel relieved that it wasn’t as bad as they’d originally feared, but it was still a punch in the gut.
