Page 105 of The Secrets We Built Together

"Toby," I whispered, suddenly understanding.

Blake whirled around, a paintbrush clenched between her teeth and another poised in mid-air. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and for a brief moment, she looked almost guilty, like I'd caught her doing something forbidden.

The brush fell from her mouth. "Xander! I didn't hear you come in."

"You're painting." It was such a stupid, obvious thing to say, but I was still processing the scene before me—the energy radiating from her, the vibrant canvas, the fact that she was up before the sun and clearly had been for hours.

She nodded, a smile spreading across her face that was so brilliant it almost hurt to look at. "I'm painting," she confirmed, her voice filled with wonder, like she couldn't quite believe it herself.

I moved further into the room, careful not to disturb the organized chaos of her creative space. "How long have you been up?"

Blake glanced at the window, seeming surprised to see the first rays of dawn peeking through. "I don't know. Since two, maybe? I woke up and it was just... there. The idea. So clear I could almost see it behind my eyelids." She gestured at the painting with her brush. "I had to get it out before it disappeared again."

I came to stand behind her, looking more closely at the canvas. The detail was extraordinary—the way she'd captured the light, the texture of the blanket, the soft curve of Amelia's cheek. I could almost feel the breeze that seemed to be moving through the painted scene.

"It's beautiful, Blake," I said softly. "It's... us."

She nodded, her eyes suddenly shimmering with unshed tears. "It's what I see when I close my eyes now." She set down her brush and turned to face me fully. "I couldn't paint before because I was too caught up in trying to be perfect. In trying to prove something to everyone who ever told me I wasn't good enough. But this—" she gestured between us, "—this is real. And it's messy and complicated and nothing like what I planned, but it's mine. Ours." She took a shaky breath. "You make me feel safe enough to create again, Xander."

I reached out, cupping her face in my hands, feeling the warmth of her skin against my palms. "You did this, Blake. Not me. This was always inside you."

She leaned into my touch. "Maybe. But I needed to feel grounded before I could fly again." She smiled, the kind of smile that made her whole face light up. "And you and Amelia—you gave me roots."

I kissed her then, tasting the faint bitterness of coffee on her lips and something else—joy, maybe. Pure, uninhibited joy. When we pulled apart, she was crying, but they were the kind of tears that came from somewhere good, somewhere healing.

"I have so many ideas," she said, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of yellow paint across her skin. "They're all just... rushing in at once. Like they've been waiting for me to open the door again."

"The show," I said, suddenly remembering. "You could still do it."

Her eyes widened. "I don't know. It's only a few months away, and with Amelia, and it’s so much work—"

"We'll figure it out," I told her, feeling a certainty settle over me. "If this is what you want, Blake, we'll make it happen. All of us."

She bit her lip, looking back at the canvas. "I think... I think I do want it. Ineedto do this, not just for me, but for her." Shenodded in the direction of the cottage. "I want her to see that it's okay to chase your dreams, even when they seem impossible."

"Then that's what we'll do," I said simply. "We're a team, remember? Whatever you need."

Blake leaned her head against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her, both of us gazing at the painting that seemed to capture not just who we were, but who we were becoming.

"Can I ask you something?" I murmured against her hair.

"Mmm?"

"Is that Toby?"

She pulled back to look at me, surprise and delight dancing across her features. "You remembered!"

"Of course I did. The imaginary dog in your bicycle basket." I gestured to the painting. "He looks exactly like I pictured him."

"You've been picturing my imaginary dog?" She arched an eyebrow, amusement tugging at her lips.

"I picture everything about you, Blake Mitchell," I admitted, feeling heat rise to my face. "Even the things that don't exist yet."

She studied me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then she stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to my jaw. "Don't say things like that when I'm trying to work, or we'll never make it out of this room."

I laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Fair enough. You get back to it. I'll make coffee and check on Amelia."

She nodded, already turning back to her canvas, that focused intensity returning to her expression. It was like watching someone slide back into their own skin after being lost for a long time. Like witnessing a homecoming.

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