Page 130 of Wells

"Look at you! I saw this earlier, and I didn't connect the dots, but holy shit. This is amazing, Wells."

The shove is light and playful, and it cracks something open between us that has been locked tight for months.

I don't move. I don't know what to do with the kindness in her face, or with her touching me at all.

"It's been an interesting experience. I had no idea of everything that goes into restoring a property, while simultaneously getting a board full of people to sign onto the project."

"I should have known."

"Known what?"

"The second I walked in here last week. When I met Lin. When he told me about the center and the programs. He said it was a krewe, so I never thought it was you."

She shakes her head, still grinning, and the expression shifts into something softer.

"You don't get to give me the credit," I say. "It was your idea. I just handed it to people who could bring it to life."

"So let me get this straight. You quit smoking, took up yoga, and now you stand in front of crowds and give speeches."

Her tone is teasing, but there is something underneath it I can see even if she does not say it out loud.

"Speech. One speech, let's not get carried away."

"It's really great, Wells."

"Thank you."

She looks at the building, then back at me.

"The renovation is beautiful."

"Charlton Grant," I say. "Out of Savannah. He's a historic preservation architect. My mother loved restoring old houses. She taught me to respect what was already there. Grant made sure the building kept its bones."

Cera nods, her eyes moving over the porch, the fresh paint, the details I know she is cataloging without realizing it.

For a second that day comes back to me as a complete memory: her stopping on the sidewalk, pointing at a building everyone else had written off, her excitement as she described what it could be while I watched her.

I don't tell her I started it the week after that walk, or that I kept going after she left, building it out while I believed she was across the world and would never know I'd done it.

"Come on. I want you to see the inside."

"I got a peek the other night with Lin, but I'd love to look again."

I touch her back without thinking, steering her toward the building.

She lets me guide her through the crowd. Her dress brushes against my arm, and the contact lands harder than it ought to, sharper and louder than it has any right to be after everything.

We walk up the porch steps. The front door is propped open. Inside, the floors gleam under the overhead light, the walls are finished, everything is clean and new, and smells like fresh paint and wood polish.

A kid runs past us, laughing. His friend chases him toward the media room.

Cera stops near the entrance to the yoga studio. She looks through the open door at the cork floors, the mirrored walls, the stacked mats and blocks along the side.

"You know, I put in an application before I knew this was your place."

"It's not my place. It's the kids'. I'm just the face of it, I suppose."

"And you made it happen."