Chapter 10
Elena
“I need to show you something,” Jake says, guiding me into his truck the next morning. Instead of heading to Ryder’s, he drives slowly down Main Street, pulling up in front of an old brick building I've passed a dozen times this week.
“This building?” I ask, taking in the weathered 'For Sale' sign in the window. It's a beautiful piece of architecture - all exposed brick and tall windows, sandwiched between Hearts & Grinds and the local bookstore.
“Come on.” He helps me out of the truck, his hand warm against my lower back. Through the dusty windows, I can see high ceilings with original tin tiles, hardwood floors that have seen better days but still hold promise.
“The timing's perfect,” he says, his voice soft but intense. “Town's growing. Tourism's up. But there's nowhere to showcase local art. Nothing that could hold a proper gallery.”
My heart speeds up as I realize what he's suggesting. “Jake...”
“Just imagine it.” He moves behind me, his hands on my shoulders. “Clean up those floors, restore the tin ceiling. Those windows would let in perfect light for displaying art. You could feature local artists, bring in pieces from your New York connections...”
“It would need a lot of work,” I say, but I'm already seeing it - track lighting, moveable walls for exhibitions, maybe a small wine bar in the back for openings.
“Good thing you know a handyman.” His breath is warm against my ear. “One who's pretty motivated to keep you around.”
Before I can respond, a voice calls out from behind us.
“Jake Foster! Are you finally buying my building?”
We turn to see a smiling white-haired lady in a sharp navy suit coming out of Hearts & Grinds with a coffee in hand. She's in her seventies but I can tell she’s sharp as a tack, her eyes missing nothing as she glances between us.
“I might, Mrs. Morrison,” Jake says, “I was just showing it to Elena here. She runs an art gallery in New York.”
Mrs. Morrison's eyes light up. “An art gallery? Here? Oh, that would be perfect! We do need more culture in this town,” she adds.
“I haven't decided anything yet,” I start to say, but she waves her free hand.
“The original blueprints are in my office. And photos from when it was the town's first department store. Such lovely windows for displays...” She starts walking toward her real estate office next door. “Come, come! I'll show you.”
Jake's chuckling as we follow her. “Town's been trying to get an arts scene going for years,” he adds. “You'd be a hero.”
“I haven't said yes,” I remind him, but I can't help smiling.
“Yet.” His confidence would be annoying if it wasn't so endearing. “Just wait till you see those blueprints. And I heard Rachel talking about the winter art festival she's been trying to organize...”
“Of course you did.” I elbow him gently. “You've got this all figured out, don't you?”
He catches my hand, suddenly serious. “Not all of it. That part's up to you. But Elena...” He pauses, making sure I'm looking at him. “I want to build something with you. Whether it's this gallery, our home, or a future. Preferably all three.”
Before I can respond, Mrs. Morrison pokes her head out of her office. “Found them! Oh, and Elena dear, you must join our historical society if you're staying. We meet Thursdays. Such a lovely group...”
As Mrs. Morrison spreads the blueprints across her desk, the bell above her office door chimes.
“Oh my goodness, what a complete surprise to see you here!” Rachel's voice drips with theatrical shock. Isabella trails behind her, trying and failing to hide her grin.
“We were just passing by,” Isabella adds innocently. “Taking one last walk through town before we head back.”
Jake mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “ambushed.”
“Ladies!” Mrs. Morrison beams. “Perfect timing. Elena's considering opening an art gallery in the Morrison Building.”
“Is she now?” Rachel sidles up next to me, linking her arm through mine. “Actually, funny timing. I was just telling Isabella that I might buy that ranch property outside town. The one with the guest cottages? Could be perfect for extended stays while I work on getting that winter art festival going.”
I whip my head around to stare at her. “You're what?”
She shrugs, but there's a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “New York's getting... predictable. And I could use a change of scenery. Plus,” she adds with a grin, “someone needs to help you run this gallery venture.”
“And keep an eye on the New York location,” Isabella adds. “Since apparently we're all going to be splitting our time between coasts now.”
I shoot Jake an accusatory look. “Just how many people have you talked to about this?”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I may have mentioned it to Rachel. Once. This morning.”
“Which means half of Manhattan probably knows by now,” Isabella says cheerfully.
“The property's perfect for an artist's retreat,” Rachel continues, eyes shining. “We could host workshops, bring in artists for residencies...”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Mrs. Morrison exclaims. “I know just who you should talk to about that property, dear. My sister's husband's cousin is the listing agent...”
“Let me guess,” I say dryly to Rachel, “you've already talked to them?”
She attempts to look innocent and fails spectacularly. “I may have scheduled a viewing for tomorrow morning. Before the flight.”
“Speaking of property,” Mrs. Morrison starts gathering forms from her desk drawer. “Better move quickly on this building before someone else snatches it up. Did you know the yoga studio people were looking at it?”
“They were not,” Rachel scoffs.
“Well, no,” Mrs. Morrison admits. “But they might have. Eventually.”
Jake's hand finds the small of my back, steady and warm. “No pressure,” he says, but his eyes are hopeful. “But for what it's worth, I think you'd be amazing here.”
I look around at my best friends, who have apparently planned the rest of my life out, and sigh.
“Do you have a pen?” I ask Mrs. Morrison.
The resulting cheer probably carries all the way to Hearts & Grinds.
“Welcome home,” Jake whispers in my ear.
Rachel claps her hands. “Perfect! Now, about those artist cottages...”
“One real estate deal at a time,” I laugh, but I can already see it - summer workshops under the Montana sky, artists finding inspiration in these mountains, Rachel's larger-than-life presence making everything more vibrant.
“Home,” I whisper back to Jake, and despite all the chaos around us, those two words feel exactly right.
I'm home.