30. Chapter 30
Elowen
Naturally, I text Beatrix and Sarah right after leaving Julian’s office. Beatrix says I’m silly for turning down his initial offer, but Sarah says I should have accepted the check, only to burn it in front of him. I know she’s kidding, though. Julian’s growing on her.
The weeks pass quickly, and soon it’s time to break ground on the cat sanctuary.
I pull up to the abandoned veterinary clinic in my Honda, gripping the steering wheel with a mixture of nervousness and sheer excitement.
Leo and Meredith begged to come, but I’m glad I told them no, because the building looks even worse in the bright morning light.
There are two broken windows that I’m suddenly worrying about racoons climbing through, and the outside desperately needs a fresh coat of paint.
Or several. This decrepit shell will become the Buttons Sanctuary Academy.
Grabbing my clipboard from the passenger seat, I straighten my shoulders. I can do this.
The gravel crunches under my boots as I approach, work gloves tucked into my back pocket. The property is larger than it appears from the road and has nearly an acre of overgrown land surrounding the main building. It really is perfect for outdoor rehabilitation enclosures once we clear the debris.
Beatrix’s truck is already parked haphazardly near the entrance. I spot her immediately, gray hair pulled back in her signature no-nonsense bun, gesturing emphatically to a cluster of volunteers. Her voice carries across the lot.
“No, the dumpster goes by the fence. We’re keeping the loading dock intact, so don’t block access.”
The volunteers scurry to comply, a mix of college students fulfilling community service hours and shelter regulars. My chest tightens with unexpected emotion. These people showed up at seven a.m. on a Saturday to help transform an abandoned building into a dream. My dream. Our dream.
“You planning to stand there admiring the view, or you gonna put those gloves to use?” Beatrix calls, noticing me.
I smile and approach the group. “Just taking it all in. It’s really happening.”
Beatrix’s expression softens for a microsecond before hardening back to her default gruffness. “Won’t happen any faster with you daydreaming. Got the assignment sheet?”
I hand her the clipboard, and we begin dividing tasks among the volunteers in the parking lot.
Connor and his contractor friend will assess the structural integrity.
Sarah and three college students will clear the lobby.
Two retired nurses who volunteer at SKCAS will handle the smaller examination rooms. I assign myself to the kennels to sort what can be salvaged and what needs to be scrapped.
Before I can head to my task, a sleek black SUV pulls into the lot. My stomach drops even as my pulse quickens. My Julian.
Unlike Beatrix, he parks perfectly, of course.
I watch as he emerges from the vehicle, this time wearing sweats and a T-shirt rather than his suit.
Still, a ripple of confusion passes through me.
We hadn’t discussed him helping out today, not that I’m complaining.
The volunteers have noticed him, too. Conversations halt mid-sentence. Beatrix looks up from her clipboard.
I should approach him, but I’m frozen. Julian sees me and walks over, navigating around a pile of broken concrete with careful steps.
“Morning,” he says, setting down a tool bag.
“What are you doing here?”
Julian glances around at the volunteers, most pretending not to stare while absolutely staring.
You’d think they’d get used to him showing up, but gossip runs deep.
“I thought you could use an extra pair of hands.” He gestures toward the building where volunteers are already carrying out debris.
“I’m pretty good at tearing things down. ”
I snort, because Julian is not good at touching anything, but then I understand he meant it as a self-deprecating comment related to our marriage, and that only makes me snort a second time.
“We have assigned teams already,” I say, gesturing to my clipboard. “The demolition crew is fully staffed.”
It’s not exactly true. We could use every available hand. But something in me resists the idea of Julian simply showing up and inserting himself without warning. Call me petty.
“I’m not here to oversee or direct,” Julian says, as if reading my thoughts. “Just to help. I’ll do whatever needs doing.”
I study him, considering. Truthfully, Julian has proven that he’s trying to support me, so I should accept his free labor without complaint. It’s not like he’s going to take control. I know that.
Beatrix approaches, her work boots crunching on the gravel.
“We need another set of hands for the interior demo.” She gives Julian an appraising once-over.
“If you’re serious about helping, go find Connor inside.
Tell him I sent you.” She pauses, then adds with narrowed eyes, “Those fancy shoes are going to be ruined.”
Julian glances down at his sneakers, still pristine despite the gravel, and nods. “They’re just shoes.”
Just shoes. Shocking, coming from the man who once sent back custom Italian loafers because the stitching was two shades too dark.
“Connor’s team is clearing the main treatment room,” I say, making a note on my clipboard.
“On it,” Julian says, picking up his tool bag.
“Oh! And sign the liability waiver first, please.” I glance at his shoes while imagining rusty nails and glass sinking straight into the soles. Not that I want that to happen. Please, don’t let that happen.
“Will do.” He steps away.
“And watch where you step, just in case!”
“Yes, darling,” he says smoothly. Oh my. His tone goes straight to my core.
I watch him head toward the building, his usual confident stride slightly tempered as he navigates around debris. The volunteers part like the Red Sea, whispering to each other as he passes.
“Well, that’s a development,” Beatrix mutters beside me.
“He’s trying to prove something,” I reply, my voice low.
Beatrix snorts. “Aren’t we all?” She nods toward the building where Julian disappeared through the doorway.
“Question is, will he stick around when his fancy clothes get dirty and his hands start to blister? Volunteering to hold puppies and kittens is one thing, but this is an entirely different beast.”
Right on cue, someone yells, “Watch out!” moments before a crash sounds inside. Then the same voice shouts, “All good!”
Yes, definitely happy I hadn’t brought my kids here.
As the afternoon continues, I pause to wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my glove.
It’s about one p.m. now, and we’ve been at it for several hours.
I turn, scanning for Julian, expecting to see him still wrestling with the heavy shelving units or perhaps consulting with Connor.
The corner where he was working is empty, his tools neatly aligned on a discarded tarp.
A familiar, hollow weight settles in my stomach as I look toward the front entrance. I assume the physical grit has finally overwhelmed him. It’s the logical conclusion. I’m honestly surprised he lasted this long.
I am reaching for my clipboard when the back door creaks open. Julian steps through, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a large brown paper bag tucked under each arm. He looks slightly winded, a stray lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, but his eyes find mine immediately.
“I realized that labor is much more efficient when the laborers are properly fed,” he says, his voice carrying clearly over the hum of the portable speaker.
He gestures toward the quiet, overgrown alleyway behind the building through an open window.
“Would you join me for a few minutes of quiet before we tackle the back room?”
A few workers overhear Julian mention food and huddle next to him.
Julian passes out sandwiches before motioning for me.
I follow him out into the small patch of grass that struggles to grow between the cracked pavement.
He has found a relatively clean stone ledge and begins unpacking the bags over a blanket he must have brought from home.
The scent of toasted sourdough and fresh greens from the local deli fills the air.
“I remembered that you used to order the ham and cranberry on sourdough whenever we were in a hurry,” he murmurs, handing me a neatly wrapped sandwich.
Yum. I can’t believe he brought me, and everyone else, lunch. It’s so thoughtful.
He then reaches back into the bag and pulls out a chilled bottle of wine. I recognize the label instantly: Pinot Noir. It is the kind he insists I drink every time we order wine.
He pours a small amount into two plastic cups and hands one to me. I take it, the cold condensation dampening my palm, but I do not take a sip. I simply stare. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable, until Julian lowers his cup.
He studies my face, his brow furrowing as he processes my stillness. He looks down at the bottle, then back at me, and slowly hangs his head.
“You do not actually like Pinot Noir very much, do you?” he asks, the words sounding heavy and full of a sudden, sharp realization.
“No,” I admit, my voice quiet but steady in the afternoon air. “I prefer Cabernet.”
“I’m sorry, El. Even now, I’m making mistakes. If I’d only taken a second to think, or ask, I’d have remembered.”
The apology feels genuine. It is not about being right; it is about acknowledging that he has been looking at a version of me that did not exist. The honesty in his voice makes my heart do a painful little stutter.
This is the Julian I fell in love with, not the man who makes lists, but the man who looks at a problem with such terrifying intensity that you feel like the most important thing in the universe.
When we first met, that intensity was directed at me.
He used to watch me across the office as if I were a puzzle he was desperate to solve.
I take a bite of my sandwich.
“Can I get you some Cabernet for dinner?” he asks.
“You might have to settle for drinking it on a crate since I still have three rooms to clear,” I tell him, my voice softening as I see the hope flare in his gaze.
“I would happily sit on a bed of nails if it meant I got to spend an hour listening to you talk about your day.” When I thin my lips, he elaborates, “After they’ve been bleached clean and I’ve been given a tetanus shot, of course.”
This makes me laugh, so much so that my belly aches. It’s so painfully Julian, and I know he actually means it. But that brings up another question.
“Why are you here, Julian, really?”
He stares at me like it’s obvious. As if I’ve lost my mind. “Because I love you.”
“You never tried before. Our time together was all about business; even the kids took a backseat when it came to your priorities. I don’t understand why, all of a sudden, you’re putting in the effort, because looking back, I have to wonder if you even loved me back then.
And if you didn’t love me back then, how can you love me now? ”
“You remember the story Trey told about the pro-con list?”
I nod, hating the memory of that night.
“I think I knew back then. That I loved you, that is. Carmella and I were flirty, but I just couldn’t get you out of my head. I think the list was my way of trying to dissuade myself.”
“But why? Was I not good enough?”
“No! God, no. You were, and are, absolutely perfect. It’s hard to talk about back then, because it was college.
I remember the first day I saw you. You walked in as my secretary, back before I made it big, and I remember being unable to breathe.
I wanted to run my hands through your hair and stare at you all day.
It was so inappropriate.” His cheeks actually turn a shade of pink.
“I wanted to convince myself that Carmella made more sense. She wasn’t my employee.
I’d known her for longer. Dating her was a sort of status symbol.
Take your pick for the reason, I probably thought of it. ”
“Run your hands through my hair?” I blink at him, thinking of all the times he told me to straighten it.
“I know, right? Preferring straight hair makes sense, but seeing yours captivated me.”
He looks down at his hands, his fingers twitching slightly as if they’re fighting the urge to reach across the blanket.
“If I am being truly honest, there are moments even now where I still want to reach out and run my hands through those curls just to help pat them down so they are not quite as wild.”
I don’t feel the familiar prickle of irritation. I don’t feel the urge to defend my appearance. Instead, another genuine bubbling laugh escapes my throat, echoing against the brick walls of the sanctuary.
“Julian Plaza, are you seriously telling me that you want to manually flatten my hair right here in this overgrown alleyway?” I ask, shaking my head as the sheer absurdity of his admission settles over me.
His eyes snap to mine, startled by my reaction. “It is an impulse for order that I am struggling to reconcile with the fact that I actually find you breathtaking exactly as you are.”
“I think I finally prefer the version of you that can admit to being a little bit ridiculous,” I tell him, wiping a stray tear of laughter from my eye.
“I suppose it is a bit ridiculous to try to tidy up a woman who has spent the morning wrestling with industrial debris,” he admits, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
I take another sip of wine while being conscious to stay as sober as possible, given the work we’re doing. “You can run your hands through my hair whenever you’d like, Julian, but you have to promise not to use any hairspray while you’re doing it.”
He reaches across the space between us, his fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before they gently brush a stray, dust-covered curl away from my temple. “I promise that from now on, I will only touch your hair because I want to feel you, not because I want to fix you.”
The air between us hums with a quiet, renewed heat that has nothing to do with the sun. For the first time in years, I don’t feel like an accessory. I feel like a woman who is being seen by the only man I’ve ever truly wanted to see me.
“We should probably get back inside before Sarah assumes you have kidnapped me,” I murmur, though I make no move to stand.
“Last I heard, she is currently occupied with a very stubborn filing cabinet, so I believe we have at least five more minutes of peace,” he replies, his hand lingering near my face, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a tenderness that makes my breath hitch.
I lean into his touch, closing my eyes and letting the sound of the distant city and the local birds wash over me.
The sanctuary is still a mess, and our marriage is still a complicated puzzle, but sitting here in the dirt with a sandwich and a man who is finally learning the language of my heart, I realize that some things are worth the effort of rebuilding from the ground up.