It’s good work. Meaningful work.
As much as I hated leaving the cabins behind and all the work I did there, I admit I love the place Briella chose. Perfect for us. Not so much segregation. The rooms are decent-sized, and I may have knocked down a couple of walls to turn one room into two. Built a damn fine sizable bed-frame, sturdy enough for us all to share for Kinship nights.
Luckily, the barn didn’t need too much work. It had good bones. Just some patching up here and there. The house has kept me busy.
And the greenhouse.
And Rory’s butcher shed. He specifically ordered me to build it next to the greenhouse. Guess he got used to Briella’s singing. I just shook my head with a laugh and told him he’d better step up to help.
Jude helps some, but the guy is better at fixing a thumb whacked by a hammer than he is at swinging one. Vincent isn’thelpful, but he can’t be. Too busy with the animals. Raphael? Eh, he’s Raphael. Comes and goes like a ghost, as always. He’s spent the month scoping out his new hunting grounds.
And I don’t blame him for needing more solitude. Got more on his mind ever since…
Only Jude, he, and I know about the surprise we’re giving her. Rory’s a blabbermouth. And Vincent’s shit at lying. Jude and I are the best at distracting her. But I’ve had too many distractions of my own.
I know she’ll like the gift.
Hell, she will love it. She loves everything. Cause that’s just who she is.
But I won’t deny how tight my chest has been the past month, my body taut from the millions of questions burning in my brain, all the racing thoughts. Some sleepless nights.
And plenty of migraines.
Except for the nights she sleeps with me. On those nights, I sleep like a log. Her log.
On the weekends, we all sleep together. She set the rule.
And then…we trade shifts on who gets to hold her down and who makes her happy-crazy scream in the morning.
This gift? I’ve put more work into it than I did with her cane.
I run my hands along the smooth lines and curves, the polished finish catching the dim light just right. A brown walnut grain streaked with the kind of caramel undertone that glows when it’s oiled just right. A regal, old-soul kind of wood. Strong. Warm. Just like her.
I chose it on purpose. It felt like her. Not flashy. Not loud. But solid. Alive. Something that holds stories in its rings.
Every notch, every joint, every curve, I carved with my own hands. No power tools. Just hours of shaping and sanding, again and again, until it feltright. Until it felt like…love.
Because I do love her. And I want her to know more than ever.
It’s simple, but it’s beautiful. A quiet kind of beautiful.
And I swear, when I imagine her face the moment she sees it…my chest squeezes like it’s too small for all the feelings packed inside.
Feelings I bury under joking too much, playing it so light and cool. But I’m the biggest hypocrite of them all. Bet they’ve all said it to her. I just get on my knees and propose twice a week.
After tonight? I hope she knows.
Drenched in sweat and sawdust, I head into the house at three am. It’s quiet. Of course, it is. I’m up later than everyone these days.
“You finished?”
“Shitfuck! God, Raph,” I groan and knead my brow. “How long have you been waiting there?” I gesture to the wooden pillar to the left of the double ranch doors. The moonlight spills through the big windows, but it does nothing for the creepy bastard in the shadows.
“An hour or so.” He comes off the pillar and crosses past the leather couch to me, his eyes sharp. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah.” I scrub a hand down my face.
“Good. We’ll tell her tomorrow.”
