“It’s probably karma for teaching Gus what cottage pie tastes like before teaching you.” Bea sighs. I remember the night before our away trip to Florida, when I wanted her to come over for pizza, but she had plans.
I reach across the table and wrap my hand around hers. It’s smaller, softer, and warmer than my own, and I love the joy it brings me to do this simple thing. I rub my thumb across the back of her knuckles.
“Move in and teach Nat and me this weekend?” I ask. Bea’s eyes water, and she blinks the gathered tears away. A beaming smile splits her face, and she nods. “Good. I know it’s probably a little ridiculous to ask, considering you’ve practically lived with us for a month. But this way, we can tell Nat that you’re there for more than just helping me.”
“I think she’s already figured that out. She’s a pretty smart girl. But I’d love to tell her.” Bea smiles, and she’s probably right. We haven’t been meticulously hiding our affection toward each other, and Natalia has taken it in with smiles and giggles.
“Ready for one more place before we go home?” I ask.
“I like the sound of that,” Bea admits.
So do I.
“What are we doing here?”Bea spins around the wood shop, eyes skating over every pile of lumber and the partially completed projects before turning back to me.
The fresh scent of pine and cedar mixes with the floating specks of sawdust in the air, and I usher her closer to a table near the back of the space. On a worktop is an electrical saw and a thin sheet of plywood. Adhered to the plywood is a picture of Bea, Natalia, and me from Halloween.
Natalia and Bea are smiling brightly at each other over twin pink clouds of cotton candy. There’s a riot of action around them, perfectly unfocused in the camera lens. Whimsy and fun pour out of the image. I stand just over Bea’s left shoulder. I remember being surprised she didn’t feel me there, watching with a fondness I carried inside me for the rest of the day.
“Who took this?” Bea asks, running her fingertips along the curves of our faces in the photograph. “I didn’t even know you were there. This photo is beautiful.”
“Because of the subjects,” I tell her. She looks over her shoulder at me, coy and sweet. “Amelia took it. Sent it to me the next day.” I wrap a hand around her waist, filling the space between her ribcage and hips with ease. Bea sinks into my hold, and I keep her a little tighter against me, desperate to soak up every ounce of affection. Because I’ve learned how rare it is, and how quickly it can disappear. “She thought I’d like it because of how I’m looking at Natalia.” I drop my head to the curve of her shoulder. Closer—as close as I can get. “Only, I wasn’t just looking at her. I’m looking atyou.”
I swipe aside the mass of styled curls that tumble down her back and press a kiss to the slope of her neck. Soft but lingering. It’s how loving her feels. Her fingers thread through my hair, holding me there.
“I love you,” she says. I turn her in my arms, warmth pulsing through me that she’s finally returned those words. It hasn’t bothered me that Bea wasn’t ready yet; I’ve felt it in my soul that she does. Through her actions, through the way she makes mefeel, I know that she does. But hearing the words is a different experience.
Bea’s face is joy—pure, bright joy. And if the silly way happiness bubbles inside my chest is any indication, I probably look the same as her. I cradle her beautiful, smiling face in my hands and drop my forehead to hers.
“Say it again,” I beg, my eyes closing as her lips brush against mine, branding the words into me.
“I love you.” She seals the words with a kiss, her tongue seeking mine, gently stroking before retreating and speaking it again, “I love you.”
“Every day,solnyshka. Tell me every single day.”
She nods. We stand together like that for minutes or hours, I don’t know, but a throat clearing eventually pulls us apart. Breaking from each other, we turn to the door, and the craftsman is standing there in faded jeans and a worn flannel rolled to the elbows.
“Sorry to interrupt.” He gives a kind smile, hooking a thumb through his beltloop. His salt-and-pepper hair is more salt, the white streaking through what was likely once chestnut brown. Bert’s blue-green eyes twinkle with mirth as he makes his way toward us. “I promised my husband I’d be home before ten.”
“You gave up Valentine’s Day with your husband?” Bea shoots me an annoyed look before softening toward the shop owner. I open my mouth, guilt flashing through me, but Bert holds up a placating hand.
“Aaron passed three years ago,” he explains, rounding the worktable. He bends down to some drawers to extract gloves and safety goggles. He spreads them out around the picture. “But when we first bought the store, I promised him I’d always be home by ten. I’d never let work become more important than the life it supported.” He slips his fingers into a pair of suppleleather work gloves. “I like to keep my promises, even now. Come on, I’ll get you started.”
Bea and I reach for gloves and glasses, while Bert plugs the saw into an outlet.
“What exactly are we going to do?” Bea asks. The glasses cover half her face, and the gloves are loose. Against the mulberry-colored sweater and deep indigo jeans she’s wearing, the safety precautions look out of place.
Bert busies himself with gathering materials, giving me a chance to answer her question. I curl a hand around her hip, and she gives me her attention.
“You’re going to cut this picture into a puzzle for us to take home,” I begin. “Then we’re going to put it together—as a family—and frame it for the mantle. Every time you look at it, I want you to remember you have the power to put your life together however you want. A reflection ofyourdesign, and we’re going to keep it on display for everyone to see.”
CHAPTER 23
BEA
Five years ago, I went paragliding in Switzerland. I was strapped to a guide when we jumped off a cliff, leaping into nothing, gravity instantly pulling us down. I put my faith and trust securely in the hands of the man who guided the glider over the landscape below. Flying me higher on pockets of hot air and reassuring me when the ground looked like it would swallow me whole on landing. It was a riot of emotions: giddy excitement, jittery nerves, and swooping anticipation. I haven’t felt anything like it again until tonight.
In the garage, Nicky hops out of the driver’s side, rounding the back of the SUV to open my door, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. Not flighty and light like the night of our first kiss, but sparkly and sure. They buzz inside me as I link my fingers with him and hold the box containing our custom puzzle tightly against me with the other.
