Chapter 10 Within Their Aesthetic
Within Their Aesthetic
Jess drove past her grandparents' house without stopping.
She couldn't face them yet. Couldn't walk into that kitchen while Wayne's words still echoed: You made my business their business without asking.
Her phone rang. Unknown California number.
She pulled into the grocery store parking lot and answered.
“Jessica Hartley? This is Marcus Nguyen from Clarity Glass Studio in San Francisco. We received your portfolio and we're very impressed with your work.”
Jess's breath caught. She'd sent that portfolio three months ago, back when Brooklyn had felt impossible and coming home had seemed like giving up.
“Your color work is exceptional,” Marcus continued.
“And your technical skill is exactly what we're looking for.
We'd like to offer you a position—salary, benefits, studio access.
You'd have creative input within our aesthetic framework, and we have strong connections to Bay Area galleries and collectors.”
Everything she'd dreamed of when she’d graduated from RISD. A real job, not just scraping by on commissions and hope.
“We'd need you to start December first,” Marcus said. “Is that feasible?”
December first. So soon.
“I—can I have a few days to think about it?”
“Of course. But we'll need an answer by Monday. I'll email the formal offer letter this afternoon.”
After he hung up, Jess sat gripping the steering wheel, staring at the church's white steeple against the blue sky.
A knock on her window made her jump.
Zoey Hayes peered in, concern on her face. Jess rolled down the window.
“Hey,” Zoey said. “You okay? You look shell-shocked.”
“Job offer,” Jess managed. “San Francisco. A real studio job with salary and benefits and everything.”
“Congratulations.” Zoey's tone was careful. “That's what you want?”
“It's what I thought I wanted.” Jess rubbed her face. “Three months ago, I would've said yes immediately. But now...”
“But now you've built something here.”
“Have I?” Jess heard the desperation in her own voice. “Or have I just been playing house in someone else's barn, pretending I have a real career when it's all just temporary?”
“Wait a sec.” Zoey scurried around the hood and climbed into the passenger seat.
Jess blinked. It would still take a while to get used to small town living.
“Okay,” Zoey said. “Real talk. What's holding you here? And I want the truth, not what you think sounds reasonable.”
Tears pricked Jess’s eyes, and she wiped at them angrily. “My grandparents—”
“No. What do you want? Not what they need, not what's responsible. What does Jessica Hartley want?”
Jess stared at her hands. “I want to make my own art. Not someone else's designs. I want to build something that's mine.”
“Can you do that in San Francisco?”
“Marcus said I'd have creative input, but within their aesthetic framework. Which means...” Jess trailed off.
“Which means making their art, not yours,” Zoey finished. “What else?”
“The winter art fair. I want to show my work, see if people actually respond to it. And the barn—God, the barn. Working there feels right in a way Brooklyn never did.”
“Because of the space or because of Wayne?”
Jess's throat tightened. “Both. I don't know.
He pushed me away earlier and I'm still so angry about it, but I can't stop thinking about him.
About us. About what we could build together if he'd just—” She stopped.
“But maybe he won't. Maybe I'm an idiot for even considering staying for a man who keeps running scared.”
“Are you staying for him or for you?”
The question hung in the air.
“I don't know anymore,” Jess whispered.
Zoey was quiet for a moment. “When I came to Elken Grove, I was running from someone who thought he owned me. I told myself it was temporary—just until things settled. But then I met Graham, and suddenly I had reasons to stay that had nothing to do with what I was running from.” She turned to face Jess.
“Here's what I learned: You can't build a life around running away from something.
But you can't build it around chasing someone else either. You have to build it for yourself first.”
“So what do I do?”
“What would you do if Wayne wasn't in the picture?”
Jess opened her mouth, then closed it again.
San Francisco meant security. A real paycheck, health insurance, a title she could tell people at parties. Her parents would be proud—their daughter finally had a “real job” instead of scraping by as an artist. It meant not having to justify her choices anymore.
But it also meant making someone else's vision. Fitting her creativity into their “aesthetic framework.” She'd spent three years in Brooklyn doing exactly that—taking commissions she didn't care about, making pretty things that paid rent but left her hollow.
And Elken Grove? Elken Grove was terrifying. No guaranteed income. No safety net beyond whatever she could build herself. The very real possibility of failure.
But the barn. God, the barn. The way her hands felt when she was creating something that mattered, not just something that would sell.
The winter pieces taking shape—not because anyone commissioned them, but because she couldn't stop making them.
That feeling of rightness when she was working, like she'd finally found the rhythm she'd been searching for.
“I'd stay,” Jess said slowly, testing the words. “I'd apply to the winter fair. Keep building my portfolio. See if I could actually make a career here.”
Saying it out loud made it real. Made it terrifying.
And absolutely right.
“Then that's your answer.” Zoey's expression softened. “Wayne's a complication, not the foundation. If you want to be with him, great. But don't leave because he's scared, and don't stay just to win him over. Stay because this is where you want to build your life.”
“But what if it doesn't work out? The art career, I mean.”
“What if it does?” Zoey countered. “Look, that San Francisco job is safe. Steady paycheck, clear path. But is safe what you want? Because from where I'm sitting, you didn't come back to Elken Grove to play it safe.”
Jess drew in a long breath. “No. I didn't.”
“Then here's what we're going to do.” Zoey nodded encouragingly.
“We're going to make sure you have options. Whether you stay or go, it should be a real choice, not running from one thing to another.” She straightened, spotting someone across the lot, and leaned out the window. “Jake! Got a minute?”
Jake Conners looked up from loading groceries into his truck bed, then headed over. “Hey, Zoey. Jess.” He leaned on Jess's door. “What's up?”
“Jess might need to look at apartments,” Zoey said.
“Yeah? I've got a few listings. Studio above the Caffeine Drip just opened up, pretty affordable. Free parking.” He paused, studying Jess's face. “You okay? You look like you've had a rough day.”
“Just a lot to think about,” Jess said.
“Well, apartment hunting might help. Give you something concrete to focus on.” He pulled out his phone. “I can show you the studio tomorrow if you want. Or I've got a one-bedroom on Creek Road that just came available—little more expensive but more space.”
“I don't even know if I'm staying in town,” Jess admitted. “I got a job offer in San Francisco.”
Jake's eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? But I thought—” He caught himself, then shook his head. “Man, Wayne's going to be devastated.”
Jess's heart lurched. “What?”
“Nothing, I shouldn't have—” Jake looked uncomfortable.
“Look, it's not my business. But the guy's been different since you showed up. Actually happy, you know? Shows up to poker night, makes jokes, talks about his work without being all defensive about it.” He met her eyes.
“Brandon and I haven't seen him like that since before his mom died. We figured you two were—” He stopped. “Sorry. Really not my place.”
“He pushed me away,” Jess said quietly. “Yesterday. We had a fight and he just... shut down.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Wayne.” Jake sighed. “He does that. Gets scared and builds walls. But Jess? “I've known Wayne fifteen years. Never seen him this torn up over anyone.”
The words hit her square in the chest.
“Anyway.” Jake cleared his throat. “If you want to see apartments—staying or not—call me.”
“Do you have monthly leases?” Jess hated to ask, but she couldn't lock herself into anything longer right now.
“Month-to-month leases are pretty standard around here. You don't have to commit to forever, just... options.” He handed her a business card. “And for what it's worth? I hope you stay. Not just for Wayne. The town's better with you in it.”
After Jake drove off, Zoey squeezed Jess's hand. “You heard him. Stay for you first. Everything else is just details.”
Jess scoffed.
“Even Wayne.” Zoey's smile was knowing. “But between you and me? That man's head over heels. He's just too scared to admit it. The question is whether you want to wait for him to figure it out.”
After Zoey left, Jess sat for another moment, before starting her car.
She had thinking to do. But first, she needed to face her grandparents.
Time to set some boundaries.
Grandma looked up from the stove when Jess walked in. “Oh good, you're home. I was starting to worry—”
“We need to talk,” Jess said. “About the fire marshal.”
The kitchen went quiet. Grandpa lowered his newspaper.
“Grandma, Grandpa—sit down. Please.”
They settled at the table, Grandma's hands twisting together nervously.
“I know you were worried,” Jess started. “I know you called the fire marshal because you love me and want me safe. But you didn't ask Wayne. You didn't tell me. You just decided you knew better.”
“We're your grandparents,” Grandma protested. “We have a right—”
“You have a right to worry. Not to interfere.” Jess kept her voice steady. “I came back to help you. To be here when you need family. But somehow, it's become you managing my life instead.”
The silence stretched.
“I got a job offer today,” Jess continued. “San Francisco. Good salary, benefits. I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet, but having that option—it made me realize I need more space. Whether I stay or go, I need room to live a life of my own.”
Grandma's eyes filled with tears. “You might leave?”
“I don't know yet. But either way, I won’t be living here anymore. I need my own place.” Jess softened her voice. “I need to be able to breathe.”
After a long moment, Grandpa reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “We understand.”
“Do we?” Grandma whispered.
“We do,” Grandpa said firmly. He looked at Jess. “We're sorry about the fire marshal. You're right—it wasn't our call.”
That night, in her room above the garage, Jess opened her laptop and stared at the email from Marcus Nguyen. The formal offer letter, complete with salary figures that would change her life.
She opened a second tab: the winter art fair application.
Two paths. Two futures.
She had until Monday to decide.
But first, she had a fundraiser to get through.
And a grumpy blacksmith who, according to his best friend, looked at her like no one else.
Who was apparently devastated at the thought of her leaving.
Jess closed both tabs without making a decision and went to bed.
Some choices couldn't be rushed.