She turns the book so I can see. It's the Heritage Street building, but not as it currently exists. This is her vision—the facade restored, flowers in window boxes, people gathered on the sidewalk outside. There's a sign above the door that says "Mira's Garden Community Arts Center."
"You're naming it after your book character?" I ask, and I can hear the smile in my own voice.
"It's a placeholder for now. Mira is all about making impossible things grow in unlikely places. Seems fitting for a community art center in a building that almost got demolished." She adds shading to one of the windows.
I reach over and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're brilliant. You know that, right?"
She leans into my touch, and I'm still getting used to this. The casual affection, the way she reaches for me without hesitation, the comfort of having someone who wants to be close instead of strategically distant.
"I had a good partner," she says, looking at me with those warm eyes that still make me forget how to breathe properly.
I lace my fingers through hers, studying the contrast of our hands together. "I'm still scared I'll mess this up."
"You probably will mess up sometimes," she says, and her honesty is one of the things I love most about her. "We both will."
"That's supposed to be comforting?" I ask, but I'm smiling.
"It's supposed to be honest." She squeezes my hand. "The difference now is that we're choosing to work through the mess instead of running from it."
I pull her closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She fits against me like she was designed for this space, her head tucked under my chin, her body warm and solid and real.
I kiss her forehead, letting myself feel the simple peace of this moment.
We finish breakfast, talking about the walkthrough and Rosanna's plans for the community center and the board meeting I have next week where I'll probably face more questions about the Heritage Street decision.
Finally, Rosanna checks the time and winces.
"We really need to start getting ready. Dr. Vince is going to think we're completely unprofessional if we show up late to our own building's restoration walkthrough."
"Let her think it," I say, pulling Rosanna closer instead of letting her get up. "Let her think we're so in love we lost track of time."
Rosanna laughs, that bright sound that fills spaces I didn't know were empty. "Who are you and what have you done with Seamus O'Malley, efficiency expert and strategic time manager?"
"You happened to me," I tell her honestly.
She kisses me, soft and sweet and full of promise. "We really do need to get moving though. I want to hear Dr. Vince's ideas about the facade restoration, and she mentioned possibly preserving some of the original interior tile work."
My phone buzzes again. Her phone chimes.
We ignore both.
Rosanna shifts closer, her hair brushing my jaw, sunlight pooling across rumpled sheets and architectural plans scattered on the nightstand.
Somewhere across the city, a building waits to be restored.
But right now, the only thing I’m building is this— her laughter in my bedroom, her hand tangled in mine, coffee going cold between us.
“We’re going to be late,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, tightening my arm around her. “We are.”
Chapter forty-three
Rosanna
We pull up to Heritage Street ten minutes late. Dr. Vince is waiting with her tablet and a patient expression.
"Ms. Lopez, Mr. O'Malley," she greets us warmly as we approach. "I'm glad you could make it. I know you're both busy people."
