6
The festival nearly collapsed twelve hours before it began.
At seven Friday evening, city inspector Wilburn Bluford arrived with a clipboard and the personality of an unpaid parking ticket.
He examined the repaired ceiling, the electrical panel, and the temporary outdoor stage.
Then he informed me that water damage had compromised a section of the rear storage room.
“The public cannot enter the building until the support beams are reinforced,” he said.
“The festival begins tomorrow morning.”
“I read the permit.”
“We’ve sold six hundred tickets.”
“I can count too.”
I stared at him.
Jessa quietly stepped between us before my future included bail.
“How long will the repair take?” she asked.
“Two or three days with the right crew.”
I called eight contractors.
Two didn’t answer.
Three were booked.
One offered to arrive Monday.
The seventh contractor asked whether the building was haunted.
I stared at Keon’s contact information on my phone.
I had unblocked him after the storm but never saved his number again. His digits remained branded into my memory like a bad decision.
Jessa watched me.
“Call him.”
“I can handle this.”
“With which construction license?”
“I’ll build the support beam myself.”
“You own a pink hammer.”
“It works.”
“It came with a picture-hanging kit.”
I looked around Margin Notes.
Vendors had already delivered boxes. The stage decorations waited along the wall. Volunteers had spent weeks creating banners, signs, and display tables.
The youth center director was counting on us.
This was bigger than my pride.
I called Keon.
He answered on the first ring.
“Page?”
His voice carried surprise and immediate concern.
“I need a contractor.”
“What happened?”
I explained.
“I’m on my way,” he said.
No hesitation.
No reminder of our argument.
No request for anything in return.
Thirty minutes later, three Maddox Restoration trucks pulled up outside.
Keon entered with Tavron and six crew members.
He wore work clothes and a focused expression.
“Show me the damage.”
Inspector Bluford explained the structural issue.
Keon inspected the beams, reviewed the building plans, and began assigning jobs.
“Can you fix it tonight?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“We’re going to try.”
The crew worked through the night.
I ordered pizzas, made coffee, and stayed out of everybody’s way.
Keon barely spoke to me. He measured, cut lumber, reviewed load calculations, and worked beside his employees instead of supervising from a distance.
At three in the morning, I found him alone in the storage room, tightening a metal bracket.
Sweat darkened his shirt. Sawdust covered his hair.
“You should take a break,” I said.
“So should you.”
“I’m not operating power tools.”
“You’ve had five cups of coffee. Your heartbeat probably has a soundtrack.”
I handed him a bottle of water.
“Thank you for coming.”
He accepted it. “I wasn’t going to let you lose this event.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“This isn’t about owing you.”
He drank half the bottle.
I leaned against the doorway. “Did you accept Atlanta?”
Keon lowered the water.
“No.”
My heart moved strangely.
“Because of me?”
“Because I realized I was about to repeat the same pattern in a larger zip code.”
I waited.
He sat on an overturned bucket.
“When Sabrine left, I told myself I’d never build my life around another person. I thought staying halfway free would keep me from getting blindsided.”
“You kept yourself lonely instead.”
“Yeah.”
His voice held no defensiveness now.
“I wanted the Atlanta contract because it proved something,” he continued. “To Sabrine. To my father. To everybody who thought I’d end up locked up or broke.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to them.”
“I’m starting to understand that.”
“Starting?”
He gave me a tired smile. “I’m in therapy, Page. Give me a little grace.”
My mouth fell open.
“Therapy?”
“Every Thursday at four.”
“You?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“You once said journaling was paperwork for feelings.”
“I was wrong about several things.”
The laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
Keon smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“I negotiated a different contract,” he said. “Maddox Restoration will handle four properties here and consult on the Atlanta sites. I’ll travel twice a month. Tavron is taking a larger role.”
“That sounds smart.”
“It is.”
“I’m proud of you.”
The words came naturally.
Keon looked down at the bottle in his hands.
“I’m sorry I kept it from you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I loved you like honesty was optional.”
Emotion rose in my throat.
“I can’t fix what I did with one conversation,” he continued. “I’m not asking you to trust me tonight.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“For the chance to earn another conversation later.”
I studied his face.
“Finish my building first.”
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”
At eight thirty the next morning, Inspector Bluford approved the repairs.
The festival opened thirty minutes late.
By noon, Marlowe Avenue was packed.
Music poured from the stage. Food vendors lined both sidewalks. Couples took pictures beneath the giant LOVE IS A RISK banner. Children painted canvases near the youth center’s booth while local authors signed books inside Margin Notes.
We surpassed our fundraising goal before sunset.
I stood near the stage as the final performer finished her spoken-word piece.
Jessa walked up holding two plastic cups of wine.
“We raised thirty-seven thousand dollars.”
I screamed.
She screamed.
We hugged, jumped, and spilled wine on each other.
Across the street, Keon stood beside Tavron.
He had changed into dark jeans and a denim jacket after going home to shower. The evening lights caught the clean lines of his face.
He was watching me.
Tavron said something to him.
Keon shook his head and remained where he was.
He had done exactly what he promised.
He helped.
He stayed.
He allowed the event to belong to me.
My heart softened despite the walls I had built around it.
Jessa followed my gaze.
“He’s waiting for permission.”
“Good.”
“You’re going to make him stand there all night?”
“He stood me in emotional traffic for almost a year.”
“Fair.”
I waited another three minutes.
Then I crossed the street.
Keon pushed away from the brick wall.
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You did it.”
“We did it.”
“This was yours.”
“You saved the building.”
“I fixed some beams.”
“That sounds less romantic.”
“I’m trying to avoid grand gestures.”
“Therapy is working.”
He smiled.
People moved around us beneath strings of pink lights. A saxophonist played near the corner. The city skyline glowed beyond the rooftops.
Keon reached into his jacket.
“I brought something.”
“If it’s jewelry, I’m going home.”
“It’s paperwork.”
“That is somehow more frightening.”
He handed me a folded sheet.
At the top, he had typed:
APPLICATION FOR THE POSITION OF PAGE CARTER’S BOYFRIEND
I stared at him.
“You created an application?”
“I own a business.”
I unfolded it.
Under Qualifications, he had written:
Consistent.
Faithful.
Knows how to repair roofs and apologize without adding excuses.
Experienced in forehead kisses, late-night food runs, and defending the passenger seat from everybody else.
Under Areas for Continued Improvement, he had written:
Communicating before problems become emergencies.
Believing I can be loved without earning it through work.
Allowing good things to feel safe.
At the bottom, beneath his signature, was one final sentence.
I am applying because I love Page Carter, and I am ready to be seen loving her.
My eyes blurred.
“You are ridiculous,” I whispered.
“I was nervous.”
“This paper is laminated.”
“I wanted it to last.”
I laughed through my tears.
Keon stepped closer.
“The paper is a joke,” he said. “The question isn’t.”
I looked up at him.
“I love you. I want a real relationship with you. Exclusive, public, honest, and headed somewhere we both choose together.”
“You practiced that.”
“Several times.”
“What if you get scared?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“What if I need reassurance?”
“I’ll give it without making you feel needy.”
“What if another big opportunity comes?”
“You’ll hear about it before my consultant does.”
“What if we fail?”
His expression softened.
“Then we’ll fail after giving each other the truth. I can live with that. I can’t live with losing you because I was too afraid to try.”
My chest ached with love and caution.
“I’m not interested in returning to what we had.”
“Neither am I.”
“This would have to be new.”
“I know.”
“You’re on probation.”
“How long?”
“I’ll notify you after the background check.”
Keon smiled slowly. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a conditional offer.”
“I accept.”
His hands settled carefully at my waist.
“Can I kiss my girlfriend?”
Hearing the word sent warmth through my entire body.
“You may.”
Keon kissed me beneath the festival lights while strangers cheered around us.
I pulled back.
“Why are people clapping?”
Tavron shouted from across the street, “Because we’ve been tired of both of y’all!”
Jessa lifted her wine.
“Put him on payroll this time!”
I buried my face against Keon’s chest, laughing.
His arms closed around me.
For the first time, being held by him felt like a place we had both agreed to stand.