Page 109 of The Secrets We Built Together

Xander looked up from where he was making coffee, a small smile playing on his lips. "What can't be right?"

"This... schedule thing. There's no way everyone agreed to this."

He set a steaming mug in front of me—my favorite one, the oversized ceramic monstrosity with 'Mornings are for coffee and contemplation' scrawled across it in chipped black lettering. "Actually, they did. We had to turn people away."

I snorted. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious, Blake." Xander slid into the chair across from me, his eyes warm as he watched me over the rim of his own mug. "Everyone wants to help. And not in that obligatory, 'Iguess I should offer' way. They're fighting over who gets Amelia when."

Amelia was playing on her mat nearby, blocks scattered around her. Eight months old and already developing a personality that was equal parts stubborn and sweet. My heart squeezed every time I looked at her.

"But there's... twenty hours a week blocked out here. For my painting." I couldn't wrap my head around it. "That's insane."

"That's what family does." Xander reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "And in case you haven't noticed, we've somehow accumulated quite a big one."

Family. The word still felt foreign sometimes, like a sweater that was slightly too big but impossibly soft. Growing up, family had meant obligation, criticism, and never quite measuring up. But here in Willowbrook, it had come to mean something entirely different.

"I don't know what to say," I admitted.

"You don't have to say anything. Just paint." He squeezed my hand then released it, standing to refill his coffee. "Your gallery opening is in eight weeks. Even with this schedule, you're cutting it close."

The reminder sent a fresh spike of panic through me. Eight weeks to create enough pieces for a solo show. Eight weeks to prove I wasn't washed up, that I could still translate what lived inside me onto canvas.

"I could still cancel," I said, not for the first time. "Tell them I'm not ready."

Xander turned to face me, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "You could. But you won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know you, Blake Mitchell. And you don't run from a challenge."

I disagreed with that assessment completely. I'd been running from challenges my entire life. Running from my parents, running from my art block, running from anything that threatened to hurt me. The only exception had been Madison abandoning Amelia on my doorstep.

But not anymore. Not with these people around me. Not with Xander looking at me like I was capable of anything.

"Fine," I sighed dramatically. "I'll be a good little artist and go paint while the village raises my child."

Xander's laugh warmed me from the inside. "That's the spirit." He glanced at his watch. "Booker and Reece will be here in twenty minutes to pick up Amelia. They're taking her around the ranch for the afternoon."

"What about your clinic? You must be swamped."

"Billie's handling my appointments today, and there’s a reason why we hired Marianne." His eyes met mine, serious and intent. "I thought maybe I'd hang around for a while. In case you need anything."

I understood what he wasn't saying. In case it didn't work. In case I sat in front of that canvas and nothing came. In case the frustration and self-doubt began to eat me alive again.

"Thank you." I stood and moved around the table, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath my ear. "For all of this."

His arms circled me, strong and sure. "You'd do the same for me."

And I would. I’d move mountains for this man. Would rearrange stars if it made him happy. The depth of feeling terrified me sometimes, but not enough to make me run.

Not anymore.

A sharp knock at the door pulled us apart. I glanced at the clock—Booker and Reece were early.

"I'll get her stuff ready," I said, moving toward Amelia's room.

By the time I returned with the diaper bag, Booker was on the floor with Amelia, making ridiculous faces while she giggled. His cast was finally off, and he was using his newly freed arm to tickle her belly, his expression softer than I'd ever seen it.

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