Her old self, the one who’d frozen after Bryn, would have seized that out like a lifeline. This is too big. Too risky. Stay small.
The one sitting here now thought about waking up in that quiet bedroom with light spilling across the floor. Driving fifteen minutes into town to unlock her studio door and breathe in paint and coffee and engine oil. Walking out to the barn on weekends, Hank’s laugh echoing off the rafters.
Fear sat alongside something else. Desire, simple and clear.
“I don’t want to walk away,” she said softly.
Hank’s hand curled around hers on the table, warm and steady.
“Then we don’t,” he said.
She sucked in a breath. “Let’s do it,” she said to Kara. “Make the offer. We can negotiate, but… yeah. We want this.”
Kara smiled, tapping quickly on her tablet. “I’ll get the paperwork started,” she said. “You’ll have a dozen things to sign by tonight. Tell your wrists I’m sorry.”
They were halfway back to town when Bree’s phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen. A text from Liz.
Just read Charlie’s letter. It wrecked me in the best way. Thank you for asking him. Board packet goes out tomorrow. You two ready to charm some bureaucrats?
She swallowed past a lump, typing back.
We’ll bring cookies if we have to. Thanks for fighting for us.
Hank’s phone buzzed. His brows furrowed, then rose, creating arches above his eyes. He turned his phone to her.
Vendor from test day’s on a bus out of Copper Moon for now. We’ve tied his shell company to three other tracks. You kicked a hornet’s nest, but you’re not standing there alone. Keep building your life. We’ll keep closing the net.
She stared at the words.
“They’re making progress. She says we kicked a hornet’s nest.”
“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.
