When we reach the door of the studio where the potluck was held, I give her a quizzical look. But she just opens the door with a smile, and at first, I can’t fully process what I’m seeing. Instead of printmaking tools, the space is filled with beautifully familiar furniture and sewing equipment.
Everything has been arranged so thoughtfully, with ample workspace in the back and a small showroom and fitting area near the front windows. It feels like home, but somehow so much better. Wonder and disbelief expand in my chest, filling me to the point of bursting when I hear the other door to the space open.
“A little more to your left—ow! No, your other left, Judy! Are yousureyou passed the bar?”
And just like that, my heart is a racehorse, flinging itself forwardagain and again against my chest. I watch Jude walk backward through the door, holding one end of my serger. He and Henry are both breathing heavily as they carry the heavy piece of equipment, but I’m pretty sure my lungs are working harder. Quickly, I turn to Sofia, who’s grinning at me like my approaching cardiac arrest is her greatest triumph.
The guys finally get the table in place, and Jude turns to survey the studio, pushing back the hair that’s fallen across his brow. When he sees me, he goes completely still.
Every cell in my body begins pushing forward, urging me toward him, but I resist, frozen in place. I want to cringe away from the pain of seeing him again. From his wide, amber eyes to his beautiful, nervous hands, every one of his features feels like a relentless thumb pressing into my bruised and tender heart. But I can’t look away. I never could.
“Gracie,” he says, taking me in with eyes just as starved as mine. After a moment, he slowly approaches. Yearning arches through me as he gets closer, unthinking and wild before logic catches up.
I spent years with a man who never gave me all of himself. Jude’s brand of withholding might be different from Calvin’s, but I refuse to be with someone who makes me beg for scraps of trust and honesty. Even if it means fighting upstream against all the love still flooding through me, I’m not taking any more steps backward.
“Welll, I think Henry and I are going to eat some doughnuts,” Sofia announces. “Just text if you need me, Gracie,” she says, giving me a significant look that says shewillshow up with armor and a sword if necessary.
I give her a shaky nod. “Okay.”
Sofia gives me an encouraging smile before looking up at Henry, who I’m delighted to find is staring at her in a dazed, hit-in-the-head-with-a-mallet sort of way. When she gives him a shy smile and immediately averts her eyes, I’malmostdistracted from my impending conversation with Jude. Almost.
But then they leave, and all that’s left is him and the ache of holding back a river’s worth of love and longing. “What are you doinghere?” I manage, wishing the giant windows didn’t turn his eyes into pools of sunlit honey, deep enough to drown in.
He takes a quick look around the studio, pushing his hair back. When his gaze lands on mine again, he says, “I thought it was obvious. I’m grand-gesturing you.”
My brows pinch together. “But this was Sofia’s plan,” I say uncertainly. “This ishergrand gesture to out–grand gestureme.”
He shakes his head. “While she did provide some strategic assistance, I retain full proprietary rights to this grand gesture.”
“But… how?” I say, feeling dazed. “This was a printmaker’s studio.”
At this, he looks a little embarrassed. “After Sofia mentioned how badly she wanted you to rent a studio space from her, I couldn’t let go of the idea. I was still undecided about keeping Larkwood at that point, but I thought you might want a space for personal projects. Even if you just wanted to sew a giant quilt with the wordsJUDE SUCKS.”
I can’t quite stop my smile until I think of the softspoken printmaker I’d met at the potluck. “But the artist who was here before—you didn’t threaten him with legal jargon to get the space did you?”
This pulls a smile from him. “No, I just got lucky. When I reached out to Sofia, she told me a studio was opening up, and this was it.”
I close my eyes as the full impact of what he’s done settles into me. “But Sofia never said a word.”
“Uh, yeah,” he says with a chagrined look. “That was harder to manage. But in the end, I convinced her that you’d know soon enough anyway and that it was, ah, more romantic as a surprise.”
At one point in our relationship, I definitely would have asked if evensayingthe wordromanticmeant breaking the blood pact he’d surely made when becoming a divorce lawyer. But now, his efforts to make me feel cared for come as no surprise. In some respects, it is romantic. On the other hand…
“But, Jude,” I say, slowly. “This wasn’t your decision to make. This ismylife. What if I hadn’t wanted a studio?”
At this, he nods, brows furrowing. “You’re absolutely right. Which is why I leased it for only a month. It’s not up to me, Sofia, or anyone else whether you reopen your business, or ever sew again for that matter.” He captures my gaze. “And if you give me the chance to explain some things, and you still don’t want any of this,” he says, and I know he isn’t only talking about the space, “then I’ll understand.”
“Jude,” I say, as the exhaustion and pain of the last week creeps into my voice. “No matter how generous or thoughtful this might be,” I say, looking around my dream studio come to life, “I can’t do this with you anymore. You sold Larkwood despite how many people depend on it. You sold Agatha’s home and legacy. But somehow, what hurts most is that you can’t even tell me why. I’ve sharedeverythingwith you, but you haven’t given me any of that trust in return.” I bite my lips together for a moment as tears well in my eyes. “I never needed a grand gesture. I just wanted to know you.”
He closes his eyes for a moment. “And that’s exactly what I want to give you. The whole truth, if you’re willing to listen.”
I’m not sure he really understands what I’m looking for, but I nod anyway, hope flickering like a damp matchstick in my chest.
He exhales. “First, I know you’re upset about Larkwood’s vendors. I have been, too. But there’s an upcoming auction for all the artwork and antiques I’ve been sorting, and the proceeds will more than cover the income they’ll be missing out on from this season. It’ll bridge the gap and give them time to find new venues.”
I stare at him, stunned. “Was this your plan all along?”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t a sure thing until I’d gone through all the appraisal work, but I’d hoped it would work out this way.”
