Chapter 22
Building Something Real
Grayson
The days that follow Kate's decision are different.
No more pretending. No more carefully maintained distance. No more rules.
We're building something real now.
Morning coffee together has become routine. Not awkward or forced, but natural. She comes downstairs in her pajamas, hair messy from sleep, and sits beside me on the porch without saying a word. We watch the sunrise. We don't always talk. Sometimes silence is enough.
Evening walks by the lake. Kate loops her arm through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world. We talk about everything and nothing—the weather, the town gossip, her latest project for Evervolt.
And at night, after dinner, we sit by the fire and have conversations that stretch for hours. About life. About dreams.
It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Because this is real.
And I don't want to screw it up.
—
One evening, about a week after Kate decided to stay, I'm sitting by the fire when she asks the question I've been dreading.
"Tell me about Victoria."
I stiffen. "Why?"
"Because she's part of your story. Part of what made you who you are." Kate curls up on the couch beside me, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. "And you promised no more secrets."
She's right. I did.
I take a breath and let myself go back to that time. To the person I was before everything fell apart.
"Victoria Reeves was brilliant," I start. "Sharp. Ambitious. She believed in the vision—making solar energy accessible, changing the industry. We were partners in every sense. Built Evervolt from nothing."
"Were you...?" Kate trails off, but I know what she's asking.
"Romantically involved? No. But we were close. Trusted each other completely. Or I thought we did."
I stare into the fire, watching the flames dance.
"The company grew faster than we expected. We brought on investors, expanded operations. And somewhere along the way, the pressure changed things. The board started pushing for higher profit margins. Wanted us to cut corners, charge more, prioritize shareholders over customers."
"And you disagreed."
"I refused." My jaw tightens at the memory. "I didn't build Evervolt to become just another corporation squeezing every penny out of people. I built it to make a difference."
"What did Victoria want?"
"At first, she agreed with me. But the pressure got to her. The board kept pushing. Told her I was being naive. Unrealistic. Holding the company back." I shake my head. "And eventually, she believed them."
Kate's hand finds mine. I hold on tight.
"She went behind my back. Orchestrated board meetings without me. Presented plans I'd never agreed to. Made me look like the problem." The betrayal still stings. "The vote just made it official. They offered me a choice—step back from operations or leave entirely."
"So you left."
"I left." I look at her. "And I came here. To this cabin. To silence. To a place where no one knew me or wanted anything from me."
"Were you lonely?"
The question catches me off guard.
"Yes," I admit quietly. "More than I wanted to admit. Success is isolating, Kate. Everyone wants something from you. Your money, your influence, your time. You start wondering if anyone sees you, or just what you can give them."
"I see you," Kate says softly.
My throat tightens. "I know. That's why this—" I gesture between us "—scares me so much. Because you see me. The real me. And I'm terrified of losing that."
She shifts closer, resting her head on my shoulder.
"You won't lose me," she whispers. "Not unless you try to."
We sit in silence for a while, the fire crackling, her warmth against my side.
"Your turn," I say eventually. "Tell me something you've never told anyone."
She's quiet for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is small. "I'm terrified of being abandoned."
I don't interrupt. Just wait.
"Growing up in foster care—never knowing if people would keep me or send me away—it does something to you. Makes you believe you're temporary. Disposable. That love is conditional."
My chest aches for her.
"Even now, as an adult, I'm constantly proving myself. Constantly trying to be indispensable so people won't leave." She laughs, but it's bitter. "That's why I work so hard. Why I say yes to everything. Why I nearly killed myself trying to be perfect at Evervolt."
"Because you're afraid if you're not perfect, they'll let you go."
"Yes." She turns to look at me. "And it's exhausting. Constantly performing. Never feeling like enough just as I am."
I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"You're enough," I say firmly. "You've always been enough."
"How do you know?"
"Because I fell for you when you were being yourself. Not performing. Not trying to impress anyone. Just Kate—making cookies and putting up sticky notes and humming off-key."
She laughs, and I feel some of the tension leave her body.
"I want to believe you," she whispers.
"Then believe me."
We stay like that, wrapped up in each other, sharing the vulnerabilities we've both carried alone for too long.
And I realize this is what I was missing. Not just companionship, but this—someone who sees all of you and stays anyway.
Someone who chooses you, flaws and all.
—
The next evening, Kate is on the porch with her tablet, reviewing client files. I watch her through the kitchen window. She's made a list—two columns, pros and cons, for a scope change the Whitmore family is considering. Not her job to think that hard about it. But she does anyway.
She calls Maxwell and I catch pieces of it through the glass. She's not just reporting. She's recommending. Pushing back on a timeline she thinks is unrealistic, offering an alternative that protects the client and the company.
When she hangs up, she doesn't look proud. She looks satisfied. Like solving problems is just what she does.
I file that away.
The next morning, I decide to teach Kate something practical.
"You're doing what?" She stares at me like I've lost my mind.
"Teaching you to chop wood. It's a valuable skill."
"I don't need to know how to chop wood. We have electricity."
"What if the power goes out again?"
"We use the fireplace. Which already has wood. That you chopped."
I grin. "Humor me."
She rolls her eyes but follows me outside to the chopping block.
I hand her the axe, and she holds it like it might bite her.
"Okay, so you want to—"
"I know how axes work, Grayson."
"Do you?"
"You swing it. At the wood. Until the wood breaks."
"Technically correct. But there's technique—"
She swings.
The axe bounces off the log and nearly flies out of her hands.
I bite back a laugh.
"That was a warm-up," she says defensively.
"Clearly."
"Show me, then."
I move behind her, guiding her hands to the correct position on the handle. "You want to aim for the same spot each time. Build momentum. Let gravity do most of the work."
"Let gravity do the work. Got it."
She swings again.
This time the axe sticks in the wood but doesn't split it.
"Better!" I encourage.
"It's stuck."
"Wiggle it out."
She does. Tries again. The log rolls off the block entirely.
I start laughing.
"It's not funny!" But she's laughing too.
"You're terrible at this."
"I never claimed to be a lumberjack!"
We spend the next twenty minutes with Kate attempting to chop wood while I offer increasingly unhelpful commentary. She gets progressively more frustrated and I get progressively more entertained.
Finally, she throws down the axe.
"This is impossible!"
"It's really not."
"You do it, then."
I pick up the axe and split three logs in quick succession.
Kate crosses her arms. "Show off."
"You said to."
"I was being sarcastic."
"Were you?"
She tries to look annoyed but can't quite manage it. We're both still grinning.
—
Later, we're sitting by the fire, still laughing about her wood-chopping disaster, when I ask the question that's been on my mind.
"What do you want, Kate? After all this?"
She looks up from the mug of hot chocolate she's been nursing.
"What do you mean?"
"After your time here is over. After you go back to the city. What do you want your life to look like?"
She's quiet for a long time, thinking.
"I want to stop running from my past," she says finally. "Stop letting it define me. I want to build something that's mine, not because someone gave it to me or because I proved I deserved it, but because I created it."
"Like what?"
"I don't know yet." She smiles softly. "Something real. Something I can fight for."
"You matter, Kate."
"I want to believe that." She sets down her mug. "And I want to stop being afraid of wanting more. Of asking for what I need. Of believing I deserve stability and love and all those things I convinced myself were for other people."
I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together.
"You deserve more," I say quietly. "You deserve everything."
She looks at me with those hazel eyes that undo me every time.
"What about you? What do you want?"
The answer comes easily. Surprisingly easily.
"This," I say. "You. This life we're building. I don't know if I'll ever go back to Evervolt. Don't know if I can face that world again. But I know I want this. Whatever this is."
"Even with all my baggage?"
"Especially with your baggage. It matches mine."
She laughs, and the sound fills something in my chest I didn't know was empty.
—
Later that night, we say goodnight at the top of the stairs.
It's become our routine. Walk to the landing together. Pause outside our doors. Say goodnight.
But tonight feels different.
Maybe it's the vulnerability we shared. Maybe it's the laughter. Maybe it's just that I can't keep pretending I don't want more.
Kate turns to head to her room, and I catch her hand.
She looks back, surprised.
I step closer. Close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes. Close enough to feel her breath quicken.
I lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away.
But she doesn't.
I press my lips to her forehead. Soft. Lingering. Letting the kiss say everything I'm not ready to say out loud yet.
I rest there for a moment, breathing her in—vanilla and something uniquely Kate.
Then I pull back, just enough to whisper against her skin.
"Goodnight, Kate."
I force myself to walk to my room. To not turn around.
Not yet. But soon. And when I do, it'll be right.
I close my door and lean against it, my heart racing.
Through the wall, I can hear her in her room. I picture her standing there, hand to her forehead, trying to catch her breath.
I smile in the darkness.