Page 113 of The Secrets We Built Together

The blueprints were spread across the desk, covering the clinic papers I’d decided to ignore, blue lines stark against the white paper. I traced my finger along the outline of what was supposed to be my future—my small, sensible bachelor house on a quiet corner of Booker's ranch. Two bedrooms. One bathroom. A modest kitchen. A living area just big enough for a couch and TV.

Perfectly adequate for a man rebuilding his life. Perfectly adequate for the solitary future I'd convinced myself I wanted.

Completely wrong for the life Iactuallyhad. The life I hadn’t even known that I wanted.

I sighed, pushing my hand through my hair as I stared at the plans I'd commissioned when I first came back to Willowbrook. Back when I'd been focused only on finding my footing again. Back when I was still questioning whether I'd made the right choice coming home.

The architect had been surprised at my insistence on keeping things small and simple.

"You sure about this?" he'd asked, peering at me over his glasses. "The lot size could easily accommodate something larger. Something with room to grow."

"I'm not looking to grow," I'd told him firmly. "I need something manageable. Something that's just for me."

At the time, it had seemed so logical. I was a recovering alcoholic with a fractured career and a history of poor decisions. The last thing I needed was space for dreams I didn't deserve to have.

Now, with a pink-haired artist and a baby, those blueprints looked like proof of how little imagination I'd had. How little faith I'd had in myself—in the possibility of happiness.

I grabbed a pencil and began sketching directly onto the blueprints, unable to stop myself. The second bedroom became larger, with a note: "Amelia's room." I added a third bedroom across the hall. Then a fourth. Another with the word "Studio" scrawled next to it, imagining the light that would pour in through large north-facing windows, the kind Blake had mentioned once as ideal for painting.

The kitchen expanded under my pencil, becoming a space where we could cook together, where Amelia could sit in her high chair and watch us. I added an island with stools, picturing Blake perched there in the morning, her hands wrapped around her oversized coffee mug, complaining about the early hour even as her eyes sparkled with humor.

The living area grew, making room for a sectional where we could curl up together, for a play area where Amelia could spread out her toys. I sketched in bookshelves along one wall, mentally filling them with medical texts and art books, children's stories and whatever eclectic collection Blake would contribute.

I drew a covered porch that wrapped around the east side of the house, with space for rocking chairs where we could watch the sunrise. Added a swing for Amelia. A barbecue area for summer cookouts with Booker and Trace and their families.

It was so easy to see it all. So easy to imagine what our life could be in a home built for us. Not just for me, but for all of us. For the family I somehow, against all odds, had found.

I was so absorbed in my revisions that I didn't hear the door open. Only realized I wasn't alone when Booker's voice broke through my concentration.

"I thought I'd find you napping on the couch, not rewriting architectural plans at—" he checked his watch "—one in the morning."

I looked up, blinking as if coming out of a trance. My back ached from hunching over the table, and my hand was cramped around the pencil. How long had I been at this?

"Blake asleep at home?" Booker asked, pulling out a chair and settling across from me. He glanced at the blueprints, his eyebrows rising as he took in my extensive modifications.

"Yeah. Amelia finally went down about eleven, and Blake crashed right after." I stretched, trying to work out the kinks in my shoulders. "What are you doing up?"

"I think that’s supposed to be my question, followed by and why the hell are you still in my house?" He smiled wryly and I knew he wasn’t really angry.

I smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. "I lost track of time while I was working on these."

Booker reached across and turned the blueprints to face him, studying my changes with interest. "This doesn't look much like the cabin you were so adamant about building."

"Yeah, well." I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly self-conscious. "Things change."

Booker's knowing look made it clear he wasn't buying my attempt at vagueness. "You know it’s nice being right all the time. I think I might get a mug or something with it."

We had such a different dynamic now. All of the Farrington men, and I was even including our father in that. I might even go as far as calling us a family. Yes we had our problems, and we were working through the hurts of our past. But that was the important part. We were finally working through it, we weren’t running off to places unknown and hiding. Or at least most of us weren’t.

But rather than saying any of that aloud, I rolled my eyes and then gestured to the plans, to the evidence of my shifting priorities drawn in clear pencil marks. "When I commissioned these, I was just trying to find a place to hide out and lick my wounds. Somewhere I could go through the motions of recovery without actually having to engage with life. Now I need ahome. A real home. Not just for me, but for Blake and Amelia. I want space for us to grow, rooms that will fill with memories. I want a place where we can... build a life together."

Booker nodded slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It’s good to see you happy, brother. I think I might have mentioned something about that not so long ago too. Y’all should really listen to me more."

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands. "Will you stop telling me how right you always are, and look at these things so I can finally go back to my bed.”

Booker laughed and leaned forward, peering down at them curiously. It took another hour of brainstorming layout and what an expanding family might need to accommodate their needs. By the end, the house we had in front of us was at least four times the size of what I’d originally commissioned.

“Well, it’s going to cost you, but it’s going to be worth it. If you need to extend the plot just say, there’s plenty of space out there,” Booker said.

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