Built & Burned (Zentrology #1)

Chapter 1

BECCA

“Congratulations on your loan repayment!”

My friend Vanessa Durham says as she hugs me tightly. Nessa is all movement and color—dark curls, dangly earrings, and at least three rings on each hand. She is hosting our monthly get-together, this one themed “Tarot and Tonics.”

Every month, one of us hosts a get-together like this. The theme is “Zentrology,” a fun word created by our friend Mackenzie Burke. As Mack puts it, “Zentrology is the mellow belief in astrology, purely for self-reflection and chill.”

We vary widely on how much we believe in mystics, with me being on the lowest end of the scale. Nessa would tell you that checks out, since I am a Capricorn and completely goal-oriented, as well as highly grounded and practical as an earth sign.

Then there is Nessa, on the opposite end of the spectrum. She says being a Sagittarius makes her spiritually curious. As a fire sign, she feels bold but also a bit restless. She believes reading her daily horoscopes helps give her a to-do list or an action plan, but to each their own.

No matter our differences, I always go to great lengths to attend our Zentrology nights.

I hand over my drink concoction. The bungalow smells like incense and something sweet—candle wax or spilled wine, maybe both—and every surface has something on it: a crystal, a candle, a plant that she has probably named. Although the host sets the theme, we would never let them provide everything.

“Here you go,” I offer with a grin. “I’m calling this one my ‘Cucumber Crescent,' in honor of the moon phase tonight. I made a tonic water with cucumber and mint from my garden. Then, I added the gin I bought on discount last week. This inspired the whole drink!”

Nessa’s eyes light up, and she shouts to the room, “Okay, ladies, you see here, this is commitment to the theme! Becs takes one idea and curates it to perfection!"

Mack rolls her eyes and smiles indulgently.

Mack is the kind of pretty that looks effortless—neat ponytail, clean nails, always put together without trying.

“Of course, Becca has it all figured out. Work ethic of an ox, discipline for days—this Capricorn turns routine into success and sticks to a script like no one else. Lucky for her, she and Sam write them well.”

Sam and I are indeed very mission focused.

We bought a piece of land right before we married to make our dreams come alive.

Five acres in total on the Deschutes River, the area has a wide spot that slows the current and makes swimming easy so people can float with a gentle push.

Our dream is to build a few cabins to rent to tourists and locals for staycations.

Not to mention, we got an out-of-this-world deal on the land.

Deschutes County has tough land-use laws that make it harder to get a commercial or mixed-use zoning permit. But my husband’s dad, John Hughes, is a great land-use attorney. He helped us find issues in their paperwork before we bought the property.

Thanks to his guidance, we got the right certifications before building to ensure the land was managed properly and the government paperwork was in order.

We aggressively wanted to pay off our loan before we started building on the property, so we worked hard to make double and sometimes triple payments each month.

We became meticulous budgeters, side-hustler experts, and investment maximizers.

Inevitably, we had to turn down many things in the process, like fun bachelorette parties, costly trips, and missed date nights because Sam worked late.

That one was still a sore spot for me, but I always brushed it aside and kept up our simple mantra, “Stick to the plan.”

Paying off this loan while saving money to build our business idea was more than a goal for me: it was healing.

I don’t have an official diagnosis. However, a former therapist told me I have a money disorder or severe financial anxiety.

It stemmed from growing up with the world’s most loving parents in a financially unstable home.

These worries led to insomnia, catastrophizing one worst-case scenario after the next, and even shame and guilt. “Stick to the plan” helped us create our dream. It also gave Sam a way to support me with my anxiety. By adding order, I could manage it better.

All our hard work paid off: in 3.5 years, we paid our loan in full!

We saved enough to cover several important costs for the property, like our septic tank for the five cabins we plan to build and running electricity.

These were big expenses, but they’re worth it.

My symptoms have also been reduced to a manageable level, which is a win-win.

Mack isn’t trying to make a slight at me, but it still stings.

I get it, I have missed fun nights relentlessly saving.

People act like having your life together is boring, but no one complains when they need someone reliable.

I make sure everyone gets home safe after a fun night.

I remember birthdays and often support the group emotionally.

But because I prioritize my financial goals and my mental health, I’m apparently not all that exciting.

I walk over to Nessa’s white kitchen cabinets with the crystal knobs I helped install when she moved in.

She bought them on Etsy, and each one is unique, showing deep purples, light pinks, sapphire blue, and more.

Although it’s not my taste, I love how Nessa can bring herself into any space, even her one-bedroom bungalow rental.

As I grab her thrifted cocktail glasses of every shape and size, I look around the room. Tonight there are six of us, but we can have as many as twelve depending on who can make it. Just like the room we are in, it is an eclectic mix of women.

We all live in Cascadia, a town in Central Oregon surrounded by rivers, lakes, and mountains in a high desert.

About half of us come from different places on the West Coast. The other half were born and raised nearby.

This group multiplies, not divides. Everyone has carte blanche freedom to bring in whomever they would like that fits the “vibe” of the group.

Our vibe does not have an exact definition, although I have pushed for one. The best definition I could get from Nessa was: “It’s more about recognizing the soul than about being invitation-only. We don’t recruit; the stars just kind of align.”

I would like to say this inexact description wasn’t helpful, but that would be a lie. Every woman at the table is a welcome addition. This is a relief in the competitive field of real estate and property management.

If a little moonlight and a cup of tea are what it takes for women to hold space for each other, I’ll show up every time.

Phoenix Lane saunters over and gives me a hip bump and a wide smile.

Phoenix is tall, sharp-featured, and looks like she just walked out of a courtroom—which, to be fair, she probably did.

“Becs, I’m so proud of you for paying off your loan.

You and Sam’s commitment to each other and your goals is inspiring.

I hope to have that kind of equal partnership one day. ”

This is exactly why I’m obsessed with our group of friends. We don’t only celebrate weddings and babies, we celebrate life.

Three months ago, we threw a party when a friend quit her toxic job and launched her own business. Last month, we were all at the finish line when a catering friend of Nessa’s ran her first 5K after overcoming chronic health issues.

Yes, I’m married, and we celebrated with a two-day hangover. What I love most is that my friends see a woman's worth as more than marriage or kids. Still, if I could have babies in the next few years, I’d be one very happy mama.

“Thanks, Phi. It’s been a long road that felt never-ending at times, but I’m proud of where Sam and I have landed.”

“Of course,” Mack jumps in. “We all know your and Sam’s mantra. We heard it on every girls' trip, at every dinner out …”

Before she can finish, four voices cut in, loud and unified: “Stick to the plan!”

“Honestly, that phrase is burned into our group chat history,” Nessa says as my cheeks flame.

The group bursts into laughter. I laugh along too, because, yeah, I was a broken record, even to myself.

“There were moments it felt like all sacrifice and no reward,” I admit, smiling as I glance down at my half-empty glass. “But now? It was worth every spreadsheet.”

Saying the word reward makes my cheeks flush further. The girls keep chatting, but my mind wanders to a memory. It still makes me press my thighs together under the table.

Sam and I had a … system. Positive reinforcement, let’s say. It is what kept us on track and made the monotony of budgeting enjoyable.

After I cut his emergency appendectomy cost from $5,500 to $250, he stared at me like I had just stripped in public and whispered:

“Baby, hearing you handle billing like that? I'm so turned on.”

I’m on hold with the hospital, but that doesn’t stop me from raising an eyebrow and murmuring. “Oh, really? Show me.”

“Is my naughty student angling for a reward?” he teases, voice low, fingers already skimming my hip. “Remember, no one likes a teacher’s pet.” I feel his lips trail from my ear, down my neck, along the edge of my collarbone.

My tank top strap slips from my shoulder. My pulse thunders.

“But, sir,” I whisper, “I went above and beyond. I think that deserves something … extra.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Rebecca. You’ll be rewarded as long as you stay on task,” he croons.

As he lowers to his knees and kisses me lower, down my stomach, to my waistline, with careful slowness, the hold music clicks off.

“Hello, Mrs. Hughes? I just have a few details to confirm for your payment.”

I nearly whimper. My voice comes out strangled. “Yes, I’m here. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Can you confirm your home address?”

As I stutter out, “243 Huntington Ave.” Sam slides one finger inside me—slow, teasing, deliberate.

“Thank you, and just a few more questions …”