CHAPTER 9 #2
"The process includes you," I interrupted. "You're part of what makes this beautiful. The care you take, the way you handle the wood, the concentration on your face." I moved closer. "Can I take more?"
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Just don't get in my way."
"I promise."
I spent the next hour circling the workshop, snapping photos from different angles. Clark worked steadily, sanding and measuring and cutting, completely absorbed in what he was doing. He barely seemed to notice me after the first few minutes, which let me capture him naturally.
The way his hands moved over the wood, checking for rough spots.
The concentration on his face as he measured twice before cutting.
The flex of his shoulders as he lifted a heavy piece.
The small satisfied smile when he got something exactly right.
I was so focused on getting the perfect shot that I didn't realize how close I'd gotten to the table saw until Clark's voice cut through my concentration.
"Maverick."
I looked up. He'd stopped working and was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"What?"
"You're standing too close to the saw."
I glanced down. I was maybe two feet away from the blade, which wasn't running but still looked scary as hell. "Oh. Sorry, I just—"
"I know you were focused." He set down his tools and crossed to me, gently but firmly moving me back several feet. "But we talked about this. You stay safe. That's a rule."
"I know. I wasn't thinking—"
"That's the problem." His voice was calm but there was an edge to it. Concern, I realized. He'd been worried. "When you're in here with me, you think about safety. Always. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." The formal response slipped out automatically, and I saw something shift in his expression.
"Good boy." His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. "I need you safe, Mav. Always."
"I'll be more careful. I promise."
"I know you will." He studied me for another moment, then stepped back. "How are the photos turning out?"
I showed him my phone, scrolling through the images I'd captured. His eyes widened slightly.
"These are really good."
"Yeah?" I looked at them again, trying to see what he saw. "You think they might work for a portfolio?"
"I think they're better than work for a portfolio. These are art, Mav." He tapped one image—him bent over the workbench, sunlight streaming across the wood, his face focused and peaceful. "This one especially. You've got talent."
My face heated with pleasure. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. I'm just telling you the truth." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "I should finish this section while the light's good. You want to stick around or—"
"I'll stay," I said quickly. "If that's okay. I like watching you work."
"It's more than okay." The warmth in his voice made my chest tight. "I like having you here."
So I settled on a stool in the corner—well away from any dangerous equipment—and watched Clark work.
There was something meditative about it.
The steady rhythm of his movements, the careful attention he paid to every detail, the way he'd occasionally step back to assess his progress before diving back in.
I took more photos, but mostly I just watched. Enjoyed being in his space, seeing him in his element, feeling comfortable and safe and wanted.
This was what I'd been running from for four years. Not the place or the person specifically, but this feeling. The feeling of belonging somewhere. Of being part of something bigger than just myself. Of mattering to someone.
And now that I'd stopped running long enough to feel it, I never wanted to let it go.
***
We broke for lunch around one. Clark made sandwiches while I scrolled through the morning's photos, editing a few and uploading my favorites to my laptop.
"You're good at this," Clark said, looking over my shoulder at the screen. "The photography thing. You could really build something with this."
"You think so?" I glanced up at him. "I mean, I want to. I've been thinking about it a lot since I got here. But what if I'm not good enough? What if—"
"Hey." He turned my stool so I was facing him, his hands on my shoulders. "Stop worrying."
I took a breath. "Sorry. I just—it's scary. The idea of actually doing that for real. Building a business. Maybe staying in one place long enough to make it work."
"Of course it's scary. Starting something new is always scary." His thumbs rubbed small circles on my shoulders. "But you're not doing it alone. I'm here. I'll help however I can."
"What if I mess it up?"
"Then you learn from it and try again. That's how everyone builds a business." He tipped my chin up so I had to meet his eyes. "But Mav, I've seen your work. You're talented. You have an eye for this. You could make this work."
"You really believe that?"
"I really do." He leaned down and kissed me softly. "Now eat your sandwich before it gets soggy."
***
After lunch, Clark went back to work and I settled at the kitchen table with my laptop. I'd been meaning to update my website for a long time, but I kept putting it off. It was something I’d started a few years ago and hadn’t updated in a long time. Today felt like the right time to get back to it.
I uploaded the workshop photos, arranged them in a gallery, wrote descriptions that tried to capture what I'd been seeing through the lens. The concentration, the craftsmanship, and the care.
I was so absorbed in what I was doing that I didn't notice how much time had passed until Clark appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"When did you eat last?" he asked.
I looked up, blinking. "Um. Lunch?"
"Mav, it's almost seven."
"What?" I glanced at my laptop clock. He was right. "Oh. I didn't realize—"
"This is exactly what I was worried about." But his voice was gentle, not angry. He crossed to the fridge and started pulling out ingredients. "You get so focused on what you're doing that you forget to take care of yourself."
"I'm sorry—"
"Don't apologize. Just close the laptop and come sit at the counter."
I obeyed and he started making dinner. Something simple but it smelled amazing and my stomach reminded me I was starving.
"I'm going to need to keep an eye on this," he said, stirring something on the stove. "When you're working. Make sure you're eating, taking breaks, not burning yourself out."
"I can take care of myself," I protested weakly.
He turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised. "Can you?"
I thought about the last four years. The times I'd forgotten to eat because I was driving to the next place. The nights I'd worked until three in the morning on freelance projects because I couldn't sleep. The way I'd pushed through exhaustion and stress without anyone noticing or caring.
"Maybe I need help with that," I admitted quietly.
"That's what I'm here for." He set a plate in front of me—pasta with vegetables and chicken. "Eat."
I did, and the food was perfect. Everything Clark made was perfect. Or maybe I was just so hungry that anything would have tasted good.
"How's the website coming?" he asked, settling across from me with his own plate.
"Good. Really good, actually. I uploaded the photos from this morning and started organizing everything into portfolios." I pulled out my phone and showed him. "See? I divided it into categories—landscapes, portraits, workshop, daily life. That way potential clients can see my range."
He scrolled through, nodding. "This looks professional, Mav. Really professional."
"You think people would hire me?"
"I think once people see this, you'll have more work than you can handle." He handed my phone back. "Have you thought about pricing yet?"
"Not really. I don't know what to charge. What if I ask for too much and no one hires me? Or what if I charge too little and people don't take me seriously?"
"Why don't you research what other photographers in the area charge? That'll give you a baseline." He took a bite of pasta. "And Marion at the mercantile mentioned she needs new photos for her website. You could start there. A real client, a real project."
My stomach did a weird flip—excitement and terror mixed together. "You think she'd actually hire me?"
"I know she would. I can mention it to her if you want. Or you could go talk to her yourself."
"I could do that." The idea was terrifying but also thrilling. "I could actually do that."
"You could." He reached across the table and took my hand. "You're building something real here, Mav. A business. A life. I'm proud of you."
The words hit me harder than they should have. When was the last time someone had said they were proud of me? When was the last time I'd done something worth being proud of?
"Thank you," I managed, my voice rough. "For believing in me. For helping me figure this out."
"Always, baby."
***
That evening, we settled on the couch to watch a movie. Bear immediately claimed his spot between us, forcing us to arrange ourselves around his bulk.
"He's the worst cuddle-blocker," I complained.
"He was here first," Clark said, but he was smiling. "Besides, you can cuddle him."
"I want to cuddle you."
"Needy."
"Your needy boy," I shot back without thinking.
His arm came around me, pulling me closer despite Bear's bulk. "Yeah. You are."
We settled into comfortable silence, the movie playing in the background. I wasn't really paying attention to it. I was too focused on the warmth of Clark's arm around me, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the feeling of safety that came from being close to him.
"Clark?" I said quietly.
"Mm?"
"I've been thinking about something." I took a breath. "About what you said last night. The rules."
His attention sharpened. "What about them?"
"The one about honesty. About not hiding what I'm feeling." I shifted so I could look at him. "I want to tell you something, but I'm worried it's going to sound stupid or clingy or—"
"Mav." His hand cupped my face, steady and grounding. "Tell me. Whatever it is."
"I'm scared," I admitted. "Not of you or this or anything like that.
I'm scared of how good this feels. I'm scared that I'm going to wake up one day and realize I've been dreaming.
I'm scared that something's going to happen and I'll lose this.
" The words were tumbling out now, faster and faster.
"And I know that's probably not rational, and I know I'm supposed to trust that this is real, but my brain keeps trying to find reasons why it can't work, and—"
"Breathe," he commanded gently, and I sucked in a breath. "Good. Now listen to me."
I nodded.
"It's not stupid or clingy to be scared.
This is new. It's different from anything you've done before.
Of course you're scared." His thumb brushed across my cheekbone.
"But you just did something really important.
You told me what you were feeling instead of trying to handle it alone. That's exactly what I need from you."
"Really?"
"Really. That's what the rules are for—so you don't have to carry everything by yourself." He pulled me closer. "And I'm not going anywhere. This isn't a dream. It's real, and it's ours, and I'm not letting you run from it."
"I don't want to run," I whispered. "Not anymore."
"Good. Because I'd just come after you." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "You're mine now, remember? That means I take care of you. Even when you're scared. Especially when you're scared."
I buried my face in his chest, overwhelmed by how much I felt for this man in such a short time. How safe he made me feel. How seen.
"Thank you," I mumbled against his shirt.
"For what?"
"For not letting me hide. For making me talk about it instead of spiraling alone in my head."
"That's my job, baby. Taking care of you." His hand ran through my hair in slow, soothing strokes. "And you did so good. Telling me what you needed instead of pretending everything was fine."
The praise made warmth bloom in my chest. "I'm trying to be better at that."
"You are better at that. You're learning." He tilted my face up to look at him. "I'm proud of you."
And just like that, the anxiety that had been building all day released its grip. Because Clark was here. He knew what I was feeling, and he wasn't running. He was staying. Taking care of me. Making me feel safe enough to be honest about my fears.
This was what I'd been missing for four years. Not just a place or a person, but this feeling. Of being known and accepted and cared for anyway.
"I really like this," I said quietly. "This thing we're doing. This dynamic."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It makes everything quieter. Easier. Like I don't have to figure everything out by myself anymore."
"That's exactly what it's supposed to do." He shifted us so we were lying down properly, me half on top of him, his arms wrapped around me. "You're not alone anymore, Mav. You don't have to be."
We lay there as the movie finished, Bear snoring softly at our feet. Clark's hand traced lazy patterns on my back, and I felt myself drifting in that space between awake and asleep where everything felt soft and safe.
"Mav?" Clark's voice was quiet.
"Mm?"
"You did really good today. Letting me take care of you."
"Thanks, Daddy," I mumbled, already half-asleep.
I felt him smile against my hair. "Such a good boy. My good boy."
The praise followed me into sleep, warm and comforting and exactly what I needed.
I was home. Finally, completely home.
And I wasn't going anywhere.