Page 110 of The Secrets We Built Together

Reece stood nearby, smiling fondly at the pair of them. When she noticed me watching, she winked. "We've got a whole day planned. Right, Booker?"

"We're going to show her the new foals," Booker said without looking up from Amelia. "And Dex is coming over to help me finish the swing set."

"Swing set?" I blinked.

"She'll grow into it." Booker's tone suggested this was perfectly reasonable logic.

Reece rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "He's also building a treehouse. For when she's, you know, school-aged."

"It's never too early to plan ahead," Booker said defensively, finally looking up. “Plus Cade will like it. We’ve got a lot of mini Farrington’s being added to the fold.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. The big, gruff rancher had turned into a complete pushover the moment Amelia had smiled at him. It was adorable and heart-wrenching all at once.

"She also has bottles in the bag," I said, handing it to Reece. "And extra clothes in case she spits up. And her favorite blanket, and—"

"Blake." Reece put a hand on my arm. "We've got this. Amelia will be fine. Go paint."

I took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. Okay."

Booker scooped Amelia up and settled her against his chest with a practiced ease that belied his massive frame. My heart clenched at the sight of my little girl looking so tiny in his huge arms.

"We'll have her back by six," Reece promised, leaning in to kiss my cheek. "Unless you need more time, then just call."

"Thank you," I said, meaning it more than they could possibly know.

After they left, Xander and I stood in the sudden quiet of the cottage. It felt strange—almost unnatural—to not have Amelia's little sounds filling the space.

"How long has it been since we were alone in this house in the middle of the day?" Xander mused, his arm slipping around my waist.

"Too long." I leaned into him. "What do you think they're doing right now?"

"Blake."

"She might be crying. Or hungry. Or—"

"She's fine." Xander turned me to face him, his hands resting on my shoulders. "Booker and Reece are perfectly capable adults who adore her. You need to focus on you for a few hours."

I knew he was right. I'd been painting in snatches of time, during Amelia's naps, in the early morning hours before she woke, late at night when exhaustion blurred my vision. Never more than an hour or two at a stretch. Never long enough to really lose myself in the work.

"Okay." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm going to go paint now."

"That's my girl." Xander dropped a kiss on my forehead. "I'll be right here if you need me."

I nodded and headed out the back door to the beautiful studio Xander had made me.

I stood in front of the blank canvas, brush in hand, and waited for the familiar wave of anxiety to hit. The crushing pressure that had paralyzed me for years. The voice that whispered I wasn't good enough, that my best work was behind me, that I'd never create anything worthwhile again.

It didn't come.

Instead, I felt something else. Something lighter, brighter. The image had been building in my mind for weeks—ever since that afternoon under the oak tree with Amelia, when I'd sketched her and the life I dared to want. Now it was pushing to get out, demanding to be made real.

I dipped my brush and began.

Hours passed in minutes. The world fell away until there was only color and texture and the vision taking shape beneath my hands. I painted without thinking, without judging, without fear. Just pure expression flowing from somewhere deep inside me.

I didn't realize Xander had entered the room until his hand touched my shoulder. I jumped, nearly sending a streak of cobalt teal across the canvas.

"Sorry," he said, stepping back with his hands raised. "I've been calling your name."

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