It looked, she realized with a small catch in her breath, exactly the way she had described it to Diaz all those months ago, standing in a field of stakes and string and barely-formed dreams.
A place where someone could fall apart and put themselves back together again.
"Looks good," Colby said, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, watching her take it all in."Owner's a little intense, but she has taste."
"Owner hears you," she said, shooting him a look."And the owner has a nail gun and knows how to use it."
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and stayed where he was, watching her with that steady attention that still made her pulse skip after all these months.
She stepped inside and did a slow circle, letting her gaze travel over every corner, every surface, every small detail they had chosen together.Her hand landed on the back of the couch, fingers tracing the texture of the fabric.The wood of the little coffee table felt solid under her palm when she touched it, real and present.She checked the corner where the baseboard met the wall, because she was incapable of not checking such things, and found the caulk line smooth and clean, exactly as it should be.
"This is weird," she said finally.
"What is?"he asked.
"I walked rooms at Norman House a hundred times," she said, the words coming slowly as she sorted through feelings she hadn't quite articulated before."Checked sheets.Straightened menus.Adjusted flowers in vases and made sure the magazines were current, and the soap dispensers were full.I fixed little things guests might never consciously notice, but would feel the absence of.I always felt like I was borrowing that place, somehow.Like I was making sure it was ready for someone else's real life, not living my own."
"And now?"he asked, his voice quiet.
"Now it feels like I'm inviting people into mine," she said."Into ours.Like every choice we made while building these cabins was a piece of ourselves we're offering to share."
He watched her for a long second, something thoughtful and tender moving behind his gaze.
"What?"she asked.
"Nothing," he said."Just cataloging."
"You and your cataloging," she said, shaking her head but unable to keep the fondness out of her voice."Are we passing inspection or not?"
"With bonus points," he said.Then, after a beat: "There's just one thing missing."
Her brow furrowed, alarm spiking through her."What did we forget?Is it on my list?I checked the list twice.Three times.I went through it this morning and again after lunch."
"It's not on your list," he said.
"Then how badly did we mess up?"she asked, her voice climbing slightly."Because if it's not on my list and it's critical, that's a genuine problem.My list is comprehensive.My list accounts for everything."
"It's important," he said, something shifting in his tone that made her go still."I don't know if critical is the right word.Depends on your perspective, I suppose."
She narrowed her eyes, studying him."Colby."
He pushed off from the doorframe and walked toward her, his steps unhurried but deliberate, closing the distance between them with a certainty that made her pulse quicken.
Her heart rate picked up without her permission.
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes, close enough to count the faint lines at their corners that deepened when he smiled.
"Sabrina Hartley," he said, and something about the way he said her full name made everything else fall away."In the last six months, you've rebuilt your life from pretty much the worst square one I can imagine.You fought an insurance company that wanted to lowball you.You stood up to a development group with more lawyers than morals.You stared down an arsonist."His voice softened."And you still somehow had enough space in your head and your heart to argue with me about faucet finishes."
Her throat tightened around words that wouldn't quite form."They mattered," she managed."The finishes.The details.All of it."
"They did," he agreed."Because this place matters.Because you decided you weren't going anywhere, and you meant it with everything you had.And somewhere in there, somewhere in all those arguments about tile and plumbing and porch dimensions, you let me be part of the plan."
"You kind of insisted," she said, her voice coming out rougher than intended.
"I did," he said."But you still had to say yes.You had to let me in.You had to trust me with the pieces of yourself that were still healing.And I'm grateful for that.Every day, I'm grateful."He paused, and she watched something settle in his expression, a decision made and held."I'm also kind of greedy.I want another yes."
Her fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms."To what?"
