19. Xander
Chapter 19
Xander
" W hat are we doing?" Blake asked, raising an eyebrow at me as I pulled the truck around the back of Marie's bakery. We'd been out shopping all morning, and I could tell she was getting tired.
Amelia had started fussing in her car seat about twenty minutes ago, but had finally settled down after Blake had given her a pacifier.
"I want to show you something," I said, putting the truck in park and cutting the engine.
"No one else knows about this."
Blake looked skeptical but unbuckled her seatbelt.
"Is this where you take all your fake fiancées?" she smirked, reaching back to check on Amelia, who was now contentedly chewing on her tiny fist, the pacifier lost to the backseat.
"You're my first," I assured her, slipping out of the truck and coming around to open her door. "And hopefully my last."
The words hung between us, heavy with possibilities neither of us was ready to acknowledge. Blake's cheeks flushed slightly as she climbed out, then reached back in to unbuckle Amelia's car seat.
"Here, let me," I offered, carefully extracting the carrier. Amelia gurgled and kicked her legs, apparently approving of the change in scenery.
I led Blake to a nondescript door at the back of the building and awkwardly juggled the carrier and keys before finally getting the door unlocked.
"If this is where you dismember people, I should warn you that Delaney knows exactly where I am," Blake said, eyeing the door suspiciously while adjusting Amelia's little hat to shield her from the sun.
"No dismemberment today," I promised as I pushed the door open. "Maybe tomorrow if you're lucky."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, following me inside. The space was completely gutted—stripped down to the bare walls with exposed beams overhead and electrical wiring poking out in various places. Construction materials were piled neatly in one corner, and half the floor had been redone with new hardwood.
I set Amelia's carrier down carefully and she immediately started looking around, her big eyes taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.
"What is this place?" Blake asked, turning in a slow circle to take it all in while keeping one hand on the carrier to rock it gently.
"It used to be Dr. Harrison's practice before he retired," I explained, watching her reaction carefully. "I've been stripping it down and fixing it up."
Blake stopped her inspection and looked at me, eyes widening slightly. "Are you going to reopen the practice?"
I shoved my hands in my pockets and shrugged. "I don't know. I feel like I should. The town needs a doctor, and it's what I'm trained to do, but..."
"But you don't know if it's what you want," she finished for me.
"Exactly." I ran a hand through my hair, unsure why I was even showing her this place. "It's been good to have as a project, something to focus on when I need to take my mind off things."
“I can’t believe you’ve done all this on your own,” Blake said as she peered through the open archway I’d knocked out of one of the walls to open the place up.
“It’s amazing what you can learn on youtube,” I joked, even though that was exactly what had happened.
Amelia let out a sharp squeal, her tiny legs kicking excitedly as she spotted a shaft of sunlight dancing across the floor.
"Someone approves of your renovation skills," Blake said with a laugh, leaning down to stroke Amelia's cheek. “Why haven’t you told anyone else about this though?”
“I don’t know. At first I told myself it was because I wanted to do it on my own, and then I didn’t want the pressure of opening the practice again if I decided that wasn’t what I wanted. But I think… if I’m completely honest with myself, I came here when I was a mess. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that.”
It was a confession I’d never have dared to voice to anyone else, but it was somehow so much easier when it came to Blake.
Then she gave me a strange look, her head tilted slightly as if she was trying to figure me out. She straightened up and grabbed my hand.
"Come with me."
"Where are we going?" I asked as she tugged me back outside.
"You showed me yours, it's only fair that I show you mine," Blake answered cryptically.
Blake scooped up Amelia's carrier, and I quickly locked the door behind us. She shifted the carrier to her other arm as we headed down the street.
"Want me to take her?" I offered, seeing Blake adjust the weight.
"I've got her," she said, but handed me the diaper bag instead.
"But you can be the pack mule."
"I'm honored."
She pulled me toward Books and Beans, which seemed to be our destination. As we walked in, Daniel looked up from behind the counter. When he saw Blake, he rolled his eyes, but when his gaze landed on me—and the baby—his expression shifted to something more curious.
"We're just heading upstairs," Blake called to him casually, like she owned the place.
Daniel nodded but kept watching us with narrowed eyes as Blake led me through the back room and up a narrow staircase I hadn't even known existed.
"Are we supposed to be here?" I whispered, carefully navigating the stairs with the diaper bag while Blake carried Amelia ahead of me. "That guy was giving me a weird look."
"Daniel? He's harmless. He just likes to pretend he doesn't adore me," Blake said over her shoulder. "Besides, I paid a very meager rent for this space."
"You what?" But before she could answer, we reached the top of the stairs, and Blake pushed open a door.
The room was flooded with natural light from a large window. An easel stood in the center of the space, and paintings were propped against the walls, some hung, others stacked carefully. Blake set Amelia's carrier down gently by the door, then stood next to the easel, looking suddenly uncomfortable, like she'd made a mistake bringing me here.
Amelia cooed softly, her little hands reaching toward a splash of vibrant color on the nearest canvas.
I was awestruck. The paintings were incredible—vibrant landscapes that seemed to pulse with life, abstract pieces that somehow conveyed emotions I couldn't name, portraits that felt like they could start speaking at any moment.
One in particular caught my eye—a lone figure standing on a cliff edge, looking out over a tumultuous sea, the sky bleeding shades of purple and orange as the figure tried to reach out for them.
"Blake, these are... I thought you weren't painting anymore."
"I'm not," she said quietly, kneeling to adjust Amelia's blanket. "These are old. The ones that aren't good enough."
I stared at her in disbelief. "Not good enough? Blake, these are incredible."
She shook her head, moving to stand beside one of the larger canvases. "This one has no depth. The perspective is all wrong in that corner. And this one," she said, pointing to another, "the colors are flat. It doesn't evoke anything."
Amelia squealed, apparently disagreeing with her assessment, and Blake smiled despite herself, reaching down to tickle the baby's tummy.
"Well, I don't know much about art," I admitted, walking slowly around the room to take it all in. "But I think they're beautiful."
I wasn't going to tell her she was wrong. That wasn't what she needed.
Instead, I turned to her and asked, "What do you want them to be like?"
Blake looked surprised by the question, her brow furrowing as she considered it.
She picked up Amelia from the carrier and held her against her shoulder, swaying slightly as she thought.
"I don't know. I just..." She trailed off, then suddenly started pacing around the room, Amelia nestled securely against her shoulder, her tiny head turning to follow the colorful paintings.
"I want them to make people feel something. But I don't want my work to scream at them. It needs to be a whisper. One you can't help but let pull you toward it because you're desperate to make out the words," she said, her free hand moving animatedly as she spoke.
"I want someone to look at one of my paintings and be transported. To see a part of themselves they didn't even know was there."
She stopped by the window, gazing out for a moment before turning back to me, her eyes alight with passion. Amelia reached up to pat Blake's cheek, as if encouraging her to continue.
"Art is a conversation, you know? Between the artist and the viewer. But lately, it feels like I've forgotten how to speak that language. Like I've been talking for so long that I've run out of things to say."
She moved to one of the canvases, pointing things out to Amelia, who stared at the colors with wide-eyed fascination. "When I was younger, everything felt... urgent. Like if I didn't get it out of me, it would burn a hole right through my chest. My paintings were raw and messy, but they were honest."
I couldn't help but smile as I watched her. This was a side of Blake I'd never seen before—passionate,and completely absorbed in her craft. She wasn't hiding behind jokes or deflection. She was just... Blake. Authentic and vulnerable and absolutely captivating. And somehow, Amelia fit perfectly into this picture, like she'd always been meant to be there in Blake's arms.
"I think it sounds incredible," I said honestly. "What can I do to help?"
She looked taken aback by the question, like no one had ever offered to help her with her art before. For a moment, I thought she might cry, but instead, she just stared at me, her expression unreadable. Amelia chose that moment to reach out and grab a fistful of Blake's hair, causing her to wince and gently extract the tiny fingers.
"Why are you always trying to save me?" she asked quietly, bouncing Amelia slightly as the baby began to fuss.
I stepped closer to them, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of Blake's floral shampoo mixed with the sweet baby powder scent of Amelia. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to pull them both into my arms. But I didn't want to interrupt this moment with what my body was demanding. This was too important.
"You don't need saving, Blake," I said softly. "You just need the breathing room to be who you were always meant to be."
Her eyes glistened slightly, and she looked away, blinking rapidly. I reached out and gently brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, then let my hand drift down to touch Amelia's tiny hand. The baby immediately wrapped her fingers around one of mine, holding on with surprising strength.
Blake's phone buzzed in her pocket. She shifted Amelia to her other arm and pulled it out, glancing at the screen.
"It's Susan," she said with a frown. "She's scheduled another home visit for the end of the month."
And just like that, the real world came crashing back into our quiet moment. I nodded, shoving down the disappointment that rose in my chest.
"Then we'd better finish our shopping and get home to prepare," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Amelia gurgled in apparent agreement.
As we gathered our things and made our way back downstairs, I couldn't help but think about how quickly I'd started to think of the cottage as "home"—not just mine, but ours. That probably should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
I just had to hope that DCFS would see what I saw—that Blake and I, messy and broken as we both were, could somehow be exactly what little Amelia needed. And maybe, in some strange way, we were building something bigger than just a family—we were becoming part of Willowbrook's rebirth too.