“Feels about right,” he said.
“I love that she wants us to keep building our life,” Bree said. “And that they’ll keep doing their job.”
He reached over and squeezed her knee. “Sounds like a good division of labor,” he said.
That night, back at the warehouse, they sat cross-legged on the floor of what would eventually be her corner of the shared office, laptops open, contracts glowing on screens.
They e-signed the offer on the farmhouse. Two clicks that felt enormous.
“Too easy,” she said.
“Don’t jinx it,” he muttered.
The warehouse around them hummed with quiet; Jason had left the small heater running in the corner, taking the edge off the chill. From upstairs, where Colby had disappeared to tweak his mural projections, came the faint sound of a pencil scratching.
“What if they say no?” she asked suddenly.
“The sellers?” he asked. “Or the board?”
“Both,” she said.
He set his laptop aside and shifted closer, knees bumping hers. “Then we regroup,” he said. “If the sellers counter too high, we counter back or walk. There’ll be other houses. Maybe not with barns that make you make that face, but something.”
“What face?” she demanded.
“The one where your eyes go all soft and you start rearranging walls in your head,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “And if the board says no?”
“Then we still have a building,” he said. “We make the shop thrive. We build the studio side more slowly. We find other ways to get your work in front of people. Pop-ups, collaborations, traveling shows. Diaz’ll introduce us to every cop who wants art for their break room. We’ll adapt.”
“And the Bryn wall?” she asked, voice small.
He cupped her cheek, thumb stroking her skin. “We build it,” he said. “Even if we’re the only ones who ever stand in front of it. But I don’t think that’s how it’ll go. This town’s showing up for you, Bree. For us. Liz, Diaz, Charlie, the neighbors. They don’t always agree on anything. The fact that they’re aligning here? That’s something.”
Tears pricked obnoxiously at the corners of her eyes. She laughed through them. “Why do you always have to be so reasonable?” she asked.
“It’s a curse,” he said.
She leaned in, kissing him. It started soft and turned quickly, as it always did, into something deeper; that familiar pull that lived somewhere between fear and want.
When they broke apart, breathing a little harder, she rested her forehead against his.
“Do you ever get scared we’re building too fast?” she asked quietly. “Shop, studio, house, this… thing between us.”
“Every day,” he said. “You?”
“Same,” she said. “But I’m more scared of stopping.”
He smiled, the slow one that made her stomach flip. “Then we keep going,” he said. “One permit, one wall, one room at a time.”
She nodded, letting that settle. One thing at a time. Not the whole mountain, just the next foothold.
From upstairs, Colby called down, voice echoing. “Hey! Do you two want to see something?”
Hank groaned. “If it’s another spreadsheet, I’m staging a coup,” he said.
Bree laughed, wiping her face quickly. “Coming!” she called.
