Chapter 25
Day Thirteen
Let’s go back to the house after my run, please!
-Dev
-Note on the whiteboard, September 2nd
Devon
“You can’t ignore the primary suite forever,” I say, as Rhett pulls his truck into the driveway at the house. “So, you’re making decisions today.”
“Not sure if you noticed, but there’s been a very strict interior designer working back there for a while now.” He shifts the truck into park. “I haven’t wanted to disturb her.”
“That’s not even a good excuse. I want you to choose paint colors, not put up drywall.”
He begrudgingly agrees, walking down the hall with me, and I can’t parse out what his hang up is. For every other choice in the house if he didn’t already have ideas, he’d weigh the choices I gave him and come to a quick decision. But whenever I bring up the design for his bedroom, he’s avoided the subject.
I start him with an easy question. “Were you planning on putting the bed on this wall, so it has a view of the picture window, or would you rather have it on this wall, so it feels a little more private?”
He runs his fingers through sandy blond hair. “Would you believe me if I told you I’d never thought about it?”
“Yes, I would.” I bump his arm with my shoulder. “But I’d like you to think about it now please.”
He moves to the wall with the view of the picture window and waves me over to join him. “Come help me decide. What would you do?”
“Right here. An unobstructed sunrise view from your bedroom window is a rare opportunity.”
He nods. “Then we’ll put it here. What’s next?”
We talk through paint colors, art choices, rug placement, and window coverings, making more progress in this room in two hours than I’ve been able to get from him in two weeks.
“Is there anything else you’d add?” he asks.
“You could put a—” I cut myself off. “Actually, you like open spaces, so what we have should be good.”
He rubs his hand along my low back. “I want to hear your idea anyway.”
“It would be kind of a tight fit, but you could put a couple of cozy chairs and a low table over there.” I point to a corner we were planning on leaving empty. “Somewhere to drink coffee, or you could read your books there on nights it’s too cold to sit outside.”
“Not a bad idea, Dev.” He smiles, seeming to keep something back, though I can’t imagine what.
Rhett
Devon’s doing a shockingly good job of ignoring her phone, choosing not to connect it to the Wi-Fi and instead to visit the reception rock a couple times a day. She’s over there now, while I finish up dinner and bring everything outside.
We spent the afternoon working at the house together, her in her usual “office” in my bedroom and me working on the kitchen. I’m running out of days with her here, and I wish I could slow down time and bottle up these moments.
We have a comfortable routine. It’s simple, but it’s ours. Most days she goes for a run, and I walk over to the house without her. But sometimes, like today, I wait for her to come back so we can drive over together. We work at the house simultaneously on our own projects, sometimes longer than I’d like. Her work ethic is unmatched, and I have to pull her away and remind her how important things like food and looking up from her desk occasionally are. And at night, we have dinner outside by the campfire, and I get to hold her in my arms all night.
Nothing could beat that. I never want her to leave.
Gathering a few logs for the fire, I look up, never wasting an opportunity to drink in the sight of her. But when my eyes land on her it’s all wrong. Her face is drawn, shoulders sagged, staring listlessly down at her phone. I drop the logs and run over to her.
“Devon, are you okay?” I ask, cupping my hands around her shoulders and rubbing comforting circles there.
Her lips pull into a small smile when she looks up at me, but she doesn’t answer.
“Is someone hurt?” I ask.
“No,” her response is quick, and she looks down at herself then back to me. “No, no I’m sorry. It’s nothing like that. I mean everyone’s breathing, and nobody’s bleeding.”
I sigh a breath of relief, but the pain on her face remains.
“I’m not. This is. Um.” Devon said um. She’s stuttering. What the hell is going on? “I need to go home right now.”