CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE #2
He walks past me, arms spread out, gesturing to the space around him.
"I thought we could convert the space into a studio for you," he goes on.
"Don't get me wrong, Tammy is full of shit as far as the kids and your work go, but it still got me thinking.
You can't keep running your business out of your bedroom.
And the loft was sitting here empty, so.
" He shrugs, curious eyes watching, me, waiting for my reaction.
"Are you serious?"
He frowns. "You don't like it?"
"I fucking love it!" I love it so much, I almost squeal out loud. "The lighting in here alone with those skylights!" I shake my head, marveling at the vision he's already started giving life to.
"I figure we can keep the double doors and add a balcony for you out there," he goes on, walking the space as he explains his plans. "Wouldn't take much to do."
He points at the framing for additional walls. "I didn't pick up a door yet, because I wanted you to choose something you like since it'll be the face or your office, so to speak," he gestures at the door-wide space left vacant, "but once that's in, you'll have total privacy up here."
He comes toward me again, nearing the spot where the ladder pokes out of the floor. "I priced out spiral staircases already, so this ladder won't be a liability when you have models and clients coming and going."
I have no words. Tears sting my eyes as I launch myself at him, wrapping both arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly. He doesn't hesitate to envelope me, lifting me up until my feet no longer touch as he brings me to him even closer.
"You're welcome," he whispers through my hair, mouth right by my ear.
My fingers only grip into his back harder, as though I could fuse myself to him, fill him with every feeling swimming inside me right now.
Feelings I didn't know I could have. Because no one—no one—has ever done anything like this for me.
And here I was worried that bringing him a stupid cinnamon roll could mean too much.
It was so little. So puny. Compared to this.
Compared to him.
JOVI
Once I've revealed my overnight project to Liz, it becomes a family effort to finish it up.
Cas and Wyatt join us as well, and we put the kids to work with paintbrushes and a gallon jug of white paint, knowing full well, more will end up on the floor than the walls.
It's fine. I have a plan. Once the walls are done, I'm going to sand the floors before I stain them.
If a little white remains, well, I believe that's what they call shabby chic in decorating.
We break for lunch, which Liz insists on fixing for everyone.
Gathered together around the kitchen table, Cas, the kids, me and Liz, all devouring stacks of sandwiches, two platters of cut fruits and vegetables and a tray of cheeses and halved hard-boiled eggs, the house feels more alive than it's felt in months.
The kids tell stories and we all laugh, and somehow, somewhere between Liz bringing out a reheated batch of cinnamon rolls and the kids wiping the last of the icing off their faces, it hits me. Despite all the changes, Trent and Lena are still with us.
I can hear it in Remi's giggle, the way she hiccups at the end same as Trent always did. Can see it in the way Gavin hides his face when he gets too excited, as if those feelings might explode out of him if he doesn't physically hold them in, like how Lena used to do.
And the love. All that fucking love that lives in these walls, that Liz knew how to weave back into their day to day without making it hurt, without allowing Trent and Lena to fade. The way she loves, it breathes life into all of us. Including Trent and Lena. And I'm in fucking awe of it. Of her.
By the time we get back to the barn, Crow is there too.
He listens long enough to hear what we're doing and why before he retrieves a worn toolbelt from his truck and follows us up the ladder.
Breaking only once more to feed the horses, it's long dark by the time we're sitting scattered across the floor, the walls covered and painted, the doorway just waiting for a door to fill it, and open pizza boxes sitting between us as everyone digs in.
"You got all the equipment to fill this place?" Crow asks Liz, taking a sip of his soda.
"Yep." Liz's smile is tired but beaming. "Been collecting for a while, but never had a space quite like this to use it all in."
"Ever think about doing family portraits?" Cas asks, snatching the uneaten crust from Wyatt's plate.
She shrugs one shoulder. "There are plenty of studios already offering those in the city, so I'm not sure I'll have much luck, but I've been putting the word out here at the local schools, trying to supplement my income through the transition. So far there’s been no interest."
"You should offer farm shoots," Cas says. "The pictures you sent me from the photoshoot we helped out with were amazing. I already printed and framed three of them and sent one to my parents."
Liz bites her lip, nervous smile peeking through. "Thanks. I'm really glad you're enjoying them."
"I think he's right," I chime in. "I think you could offer all sorts of custom photo sessions out here.
Not limited to families, but couples. Special occasions, like engagements or graduations.
We could fix up some spots for backdrops.
And I always have a horse or two that's mild mannered enough to mingle with your clients. "
"You think?" She's still trying to play it down, but I can see the spark flashing to life in her eyes. She wants this. "I mean, at this point, I'm not going to be picky. I just want to be able to take pictures."
"Be picky," I tell her, scooting myself closer to her. "Tell me exactly what you want. I'll make it happen."
Surprise lights her eyes at the offer. Then, they go dark. And peer so deeply into my own, I know what she wants without her saying.
I don't speak either. Too afraid to burst this bubble of hope floating between us. But I nod. Once. And it's enough.