Chapter 39 #2
I nod, suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline of the day begins to ebb. “I should probably do a walk-through before we head home.”
“Actually,” Julian says, stepping closer, “there’s something I need to show you first. In your office.”
My office. I’m still not used to having one just for me. No more do I get space outside of Julian’s office or have to borrow Beatrix’s.
“What is it?” I ask.
Julian shakes his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s better if you wait there. Five minutes, tops.”
Before I can protest, he’s walking away, his pace just a bit too quick to be casual.
I watch his retreating back, confused but curious.
My office sits at the far end of the east wing, a corner room with windows on two sides.
I unlock the door with the key on my lanyard and step inside, flicking on the light. Minutes go by as I process the day.
I check my watch. Four minutes. Three. Two.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. “Come in,” I call, expecting Julian.
But it’s Connor. “Julian says you can come out now. We’re all set up.”
“We?” I ask, rising from my chair.
Connor shrugs, his calloused hand scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “You’ll see. This way.”
He leads me toward the reading corner, which is the heart of the children’s education program that Leo helped design. As we approach, I notice something odd: the lights in the main corridor are dimmed, the only light a warm glow from the reading area ahead.
“What’s going on?” I whisper, though I’m not sure why I’m whispering.
Connor just smiles, stepping aside at the reading corner entrance. “After you.”
I turn the corner and stop.
The reading area has been transformed. Fairy lights twinkle along the bookshelves, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
A small round table occupies the center of the room, draped with a white tablecloth that definitely wasn’t here this morning.
On it sit two place settings, flameless candles providing soft illumination, and a bottle of Cabernet already beside crystal glasses.
But it’s the people who make my breath catch.
Sarah stands beside the table, her copper curls pulled back in a messy ponytail, eyes bright with barely contained excitement.
Connor positions himself near the doorway, arms crossed, but face relaxed in an expression I’ve never seen on the usually gruff handyman.
Beatrix leans against the farthest bookshelf, her perpetual scowl softened into something approaching fondness.
And in the center of it all, holding hands with matching expressions of nervous anticipation, stand Meredith and Leo.
“Surprise!” they shout in imperfect unison.
“Mommy, look!” Meredith breaks free from her brother’s grip, racing to grab my hand. “We made it pretty for you and Daddy!”
I’m still processing when Julian appears from the small kitchenette behind the reading area, a dish towel slung over his shoulder, a serving spoon in his hand. He’s changed clothes. His hair is damp at the temples, as if he’s recently splashed water on his face.
“Happy Grand Opening,” he says simply.
That’s when the tears start. They’re hot and unexpected, spilling down my cheeks before I can stop them. They’re the messy, overwhelming kind that come from somewhere deep.
“You did this?” I manage, though the question encompasses more than the decorated room or the set table.
“Everyone did,” Julian corrects, setting down the spoon to wipe his hands on the dish towel. “Sarah brought the wine. Connor and I set up the table. Beatrix supervised. And our children were in charge of the lights and making sure everything was perfect.”
“Which it is,” Leo confirms with solemn authority. “We checked three times.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, though the word feels inadequate for the warmth spreading through my chest.
Meredith tugs at my hand, her small face serious with seven-year-old intensity. “Daddy made spaghetti with the meat circles. And he didn’t even burn it!”
This draws a laugh from the adults, breaking the emotional tension. Julian rolls his eyes with exaggerated dismay. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mi-Mi.”
“You’re welcome!” she replies with cheerful obliviousness.
I wipe at my tears with the back of my hand, suddenly conscious that my mascara is probably streaking down my face. Sarah steps forward, reaching into her pocket for a travel pack of tissues.
I accept the tissue with a watery smile. “How long have you all been planning this?”
“About two weeks,” Beatrix admits, her tone making it clear she initially thought the idea was ridiculous. “Though I was against the candles. Fire hazard with all these paper books.”
“But the battery ones are safe,” Leo interjects. “And they create ‘ambiance.’” He pronounces the word carefully, clearly proud of his expanding vocabulary.
Beatrix steps forward first. “Well,” she says. “You did it.”
The simple statement carries more weight than any flowery speech could.
Beatrix doesn’t waste words or offer empty praise.
For decades, she’s run the shelter with fierce devotion and minimal sentiment, watching volunteers and staff come and go while she remained the constant, unyielding heart of the place.
“Thank you,” I say.
Beatrix nods once, sharply, then surprises me by stepping forward to clasp my shoulder. Her hand is warm through the thin fabric of my blouse, her grip firm but gentle. “Proud of you, kid,” she says, the words clearly costing her something.
Before I can respond, Sarah materializes at my side. “My turn,” she announces, then engulfs me in a hug that nearly lifts me off my feet.
Sarah O’Malley entered my life eight months ago as a shelter volunteer and immediately appointed herself my personal cheerleader and friend.
Where Beatrix offers gruff approval, Sarah provides enthusiastic celebration for every milestone, no matter how small.
Her friendship became my gift during the darkest days after Julian and I separated.
“You,” she says, holding me at arm’s length to examine my face, “are a freaking rock star. Do you have any idea what you accomplished today? Forty-seven adoptions! The mayor basically declared you Seattle’s newest patron saint of second chances!”
I laugh, the sound bubbling up through the emotion clogging my throat. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”
“It absolutely was,” Sarah insists. “And you know what? You deserve every bit of it. You’ve accomplished miracles…and all while raising amazing kiddos.”
Across the room, Meredith and Leo stand watching this exchange with matching expressions of pride.
Meredith bounces slightly on her toes, clearly wanting to join the adult conversation, but somehow understanding this moment isn’t for her.
Leo stands, his small shoulders squared beneath his button-down shirt. It’s another Plaza trait emerging.
“They’re pretty great kids,” I manage finally, my voice rough with emotion.
“The best,” Sarah agrees. “Which is why I’m kidnapping them for the next hour so you can enjoy your romantic dinner in peace.
” She turns toward the children with exaggerated enthusiasm.
“Who wants to help me check on the kittens in the nursery? I think Mittens might have had her babies while we were busy with the open house!”