“Okay, Bob Ross.” Jules rolled their eyes, but the tightness in their chest eased. “Maybe I’ll paint a little tornado in the corner. Give credit where it’s due.”
They stepped back, studying the wall. The mural looked different—less controlled, more alive. Jules almost liked it better this way. They laughed, surprised at the sound. “Actually…I think that is what I needed in that space so it wasn’t just the sky.”
Ollie nodded. “Way better. And now you’ve got a story. People love those.” He held up his phone. “Hold still, this goes on the progress blog.” He snapped a quick photo of Jules with paint across their brow, mural behind them.
Jules didn’t duck away. They even threw a thumbs-up, letting the moment land. It felt good not to hide the mistake, to let it be part of the day.
Ollie scrolled through the photos, laughing. “You look like you just survived an art battle. Caption?”
Jules thought. “Sometimes mistakes aren’t the end. They’re just the next brushstroke.” It sounded cheesy, but it was the truth: letting go, even when every instinct wanted control. Funny howthis was the one area in their life where they thought everything should have structure. Art was messy, and they needed to remember that’s what had drawn them in originally.
Ollie typed, then gave Jules a side hug. “You’re getting better at this.”
Jules nudged him back, quiet but proud. “Yeah. I think I am.”
They were debating whether to keep working or call it a day when their phone buzzed in their pocket.
Do you want help? We’re done making the punch lists and Luke has to head out for dinner with Noah.
Jules looked around. Really, there wasn’t that much to do. They were much more organized working in the open air than they were in the privacy of their own space. And if Keaton was done for the day, no way was Jules going to keep working. They wanted to spend every minute possible together before moving day.
Thanks, but I think I’m good. Start thinking about what you want for dinner.
They hurried through getting everything gathered and stashed in the small shed Megan had given them access to. With Ollie’s help, it only took about ten minutes until no one could tell they’d even been there.
“You heading to Brew & Barrel tonight?” Ollie asked as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.
Jules shook their head. They felt awkward hanging out there on nights they’d typically be working. Jamie had been awesomeabout cutting back their hours while they were focused on the mural, so it felt wrong taking up space there when someone else covered their shift. “No, I think I’m going to see if Keaton wants to head up to Afton. If I’m going to move into a place of my own, I’m going to need furniture, sheets, towels, all of it.”
“I wouldn’t get too much stuff. I have a feeling it won’t be long before you and Mr. Sexy are living together again.” Ollie waggled his eyebrows. “I think the biggest item you need to worry about is a comfortable bed that’s big enough for the two of you. Use the stuff your parents left behind for you and save some money.”
That had been the plan, but now that Jules had resolved to make the most of being on their own for the first time in their life, they wanted everything to be perfect.
EIGHTEEN
The keys felt heavier than they should in Jules’s palm, the brand-new tag curled around the ring like a paper tail. They hovered at the threshold of the new apartment, heart skipping out of time. They were still trying to remember this was what they wanted, that moving out of Keaton’s wasn’t the end of their relationship, but now that they were actually moving, it was hard to see this as anything but a huge leap backward.
Behind them, Keaton stood with a box labeledKitchen Stuff (Essentials + Secret Snacks), his smile crooked at one corner, sunburned arms flexed just enough to prove he could carry three more boxes if he needed to. Both of them were a bit worse for wear after having spent all day yesterday at the lake. That had been Keaton’s idea, a gesture meant to prove this was a new beginning for them.
Jules let the key rest, tracing the serrated edge with their thumb. The painted door looked bluer in the hallway light. Jules pressed their forehead to the cool frame, just for a second, steadying. This was it. Their own place. No parents down the hall, no Keaton in the kitchen brewing coffee before dawn. No one’sroutines but their own, stretching out ahead like a blank page waiting for the first bold line.
Behind them, Keaton cleared his throat, the sound gentle but unmistakably amused. “You gonna stare it open, or was I supposed to put in a mind-activated lock?”
A huff of laughter slipped out before Jules could stop it. “Don’t start. I’m sure if it existed, you’d already have it at your place. But no, I don’t need my house to start doing things for me. Knowing my luck, I’d wake up in the middle of the night to the lights strobing like a nightclub.”
“Could be handy,” Keaton said, shifting the box and pretending not to be hovering. “I can always install a disco ball if you want. Very subtle. Tasteful.”
Jules rolled their eyes, but the teasing steadied them, gave them hope that everything was going to be okay. They slid the key into the lock, twisting until the bolt gave way with a heavy click, the sound only filling them with a little trepidation. The air inside was crisp, tinged with citrus cleaning spray and a faint echo of paint, the kind of fresh that could only last until life started happening in earnest. Light from the large windows slanted across the wood floor, pooling in unfamiliar corners, catching on dust motes they’d swear only moved when someone was watching.
They stepped in first. The box in Keaton’s arms bumped their hip, and for a second, Jules almost apologized for being in the way. Instead, they squared their shoulders, forcing a crooked grin. “Don’t get too comfortable. There’s a box labeledRandom Nonsensewith your name on it. You’re going to regret ever teaching me how to organize with sticky notes.”
Keaton followed, pausing in the entryway, his own keys jangling in his pocket. “As long as it’s not full of glitter,” he said with a flash of fondness that softened the edge of his mouth. “I’m still finding it in my truck from the last art workshop.”
“Occupational hazard,” Jules shot back, nerves threaded through the humor. They nudged a box aside with their foot, making a path through the scattered chaos. The apartment wasn’t much—one bedroom, the kind of generic white trim that begged for color—but as Jules crossed the empty living room, their pulse quickened. Each step felt like claiming something, even if their palms were starting to sweat.
They considered for a moment the care Keaton had taken building out this unit just for them. There were subtle details they doubted were in the other units. Jules wondered for a moment if Ollie had been right that he and Keaton living separately was a temporary step in their relationship, and if Keaton might eventually want to move in here. But they’d need a bigger unit, and Jules wasn’t sure they’d be able to give up the view from this corner unit.
Keaton moved quietly, setting the kitchen box on the counter. He watched Jules, hands at his sides as if he were reminding himself not to start rearranging cabinets or offering advice on furniture placement. There was a kind of tension there, not the old, anxious kind, but something more hopeful, like he was rooting for them to get it right on their own.
