“Thanks for meeting us,” Iris says.
“Of course!” Violet motions to the carriage house. “Let’s go in.”
I take the tube from Iris, letting her go ahead, after Violet and Kyle. We step gingerly onto the uneven brick of the first floor, sunlight filtering through the cracked windows to illuminate the exposed beams of the ceiling, sagging in places. The faint smell of wood and damp permeates the space, the floor covered in rusted tools and what appears to be a lathe.
Kyle explains that the carriage house dates back to the mid-nineteenth century, when it would have originally been used for horses. It looks like it’s been used as a woodworking studio more recently, then abandoned for a few years at least, but I canfeelthe history. It still has the iron rings embedded in the brick walls where horses were once tied, a feature I wouldn’t remove.
Iris’s hand brushes mine. “Isn’t it cool?” she whispers, grinning, and I chuckle.
“It is,” I say, meaning it.
We follow Kyle up the rickety wooden stairs to a large, open-plan space. There’s more light up here, cobwebs clinging to the exposed redbrick walls, floorboards creaking underfoot. Already, I can see the possibilities—bathroom at the rear, living space near the windows, enough ceiling height for a mezzanine bedroom.
“Wow,” Iris says, gazing up at the vaulted timber ceiling, entranced. “This is beautiful.” Her eyes meet mine, shimmering. “Imagine what you could do with this place. God, imaginelivinghere.”
I can’t stop the smile that breaks across my face. Just like at the lighthouse, the studios, she sees the beauty under the mess. That’s who she is.
And she’smine. I still can’t believe it. Still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be with this woman. After all those years I wasted, the times I didn’t treat her like the gift she is, the way I fucked up so badly. She saw past it all.
And I willnevertake that for granted.
I hand over the tube containing her lighthouse designs, and she clears a spot on the dusty floor, kneeling to spread out her sketches to show the others. They crouch beside her, intrigued.
“Here’s an example of a recent project we did at our previous firm,” Iris says, using a brick to pin down one corner of the prints. She talks them through what she created, then riffs on ideas for the carriage house, highlighting the historical features. Kyle and Violet listen intently, exchanging grins, and I hover nearby, pride blooming in my chest. Pride, and something else. Possibility. Knowing Iris is my future, seeing her so excited, bursting with inspiration for this place, gives me an idea.
Violet’s phone rings, and she steps aside to take the call. The minute she’s done, I take the chance to speak to her quietly, away from the others.
“What are your plans for the place after it’s done?”
She shrugs. “We’ll sell it.”
I swallow. “Could we… buy it now, and hire your firm to handle the restoration?”
Her brows spring up in surprise. “You want tobuyit?”
I glance at Iris as she gushes to Kyle about her vision for the space, more animated than I’ve ever seen her, my heart full.“Yes,” I say, the raw edge of emotion in my voice. “I want to buy it.”
Violet follows my gaze, softening. “For you two?”
I nod. A grin tugs at her mouth, and she tries her best to fold in her lips to hide it.
“Give me a moment to talk to Kyle. I’ll be right back.”
Iris wraps up her impromptu presentation, rolling up the plans and placing them carefully back in the tube. Violet pulls Kyle aside, speaking to him in a low murmur, and Iris wanders the space again with a dreamy sigh, running a hand across the rough brickwork. I watch her, growing more certain by the second.
I want to live here with her. This is where I want us to build our life, in a space we’ve designed, just for us. I’ve sat on a sizable nest-egg from my father for years, and I can’t think of a better way to spend it.
Eventually, Kyle nods at Violet, glancing my way. My heart climbs into my throat as he crosses to speak to me.
“Vi says you want to buy the place for you two?” He seems to know to keep his voice down, and I’m grateful.
“I do,” I murmur, and he nods, stroking a hand over his beard in contemplation.
“We’ll sell it,” he says at length. “On one condition.”
My gut tightens. Shit. What does he want? He seemed like a nice enough guy, but maybe I was wrong.
“What is it?” I ask tensely, and his face breaks into a grin.
