Page 49 of The Secrets We Built Together

"I want them to make peoplefeelsomething. But I don't want my work to scream at them. It needs to be a whisper. One you can't help but let pull you toward it because you're desperate to make out the words," she said, her free hand moving animatedly as she spoke. "I want someone to look at one of my paintingsand be transported. To see a part of themselves they didn't even know was there."

She stopped by the window, gazing out for a moment before turning back to me, her eyes alight with passion. Amelia reached up to pat Blake's cheek, as if encouraging her to continue.

"Art is a conversation, you know? Between the artist and the viewer. But lately, it feels like I've forgotten how to speak that language. Like I've been talking for so long that I've run out of things to say."

She moved to one of the canvases, pointing things out to Amelia, who stared at the colors with wide-eyed fascination. "When I was younger, everything felt... urgent. Like if I didn't get it out of me, it would burn a hole right through my chest. My paintings were raw and messy, but they were honest."

I couldn't help but smile as I watched her. This was a side of Blake I'd never seen before—passionate,and completely absorbed in her craft. She wasn't hiding behind jokes or deflection. She was just... Blake. Authentic and vulnerable and absolutely captivating. And somehow, Amelia fit perfectly into this picture, like she'd always been meant to be there in Blake's arms.

"I think it sounds incredible," I said honestly. "What can I do to help?"

She looked taken aback by the question, like no one had ever offered to help her with her art before. For a moment, I thought she might cry, but instead, she just stared at me, her expression unreadable. Amelia chose that moment to reach out and grab a fistful of Blake's hair, causing her to wince and gently extract the tiny fingers.

"Why are you always trying to save me?" she asked quietly, bouncing Amelia slightly as the baby began to fuss.

I stepped closer to them, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of Blake's floral shampoo mixed with the sweetbaby powder scent of Amelia. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to pull them both into my arms. But I didn't want to interrupt this moment with what my body was demanding. This was too important.

"You don't need saving, Blake," I said softly. "You just need the breathing room to be who you were always meant to be."

Her eyes glistened slightly, and she looked away, blinking rapidly. I reached out and gently brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, then let my hand drift down to touch Amelia's tiny hand. The baby immediately wrapped her fingers around one of mine, holding on with surprising strength.

Blake's phone buzzed in her pocket. She shifted Amelia to her other arm and pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

"It's Susan," she said with a frown. "She's scheduled another home visit for the end of the month."

And just like that, the real world came crashing back into our quiet moment. I nodded, shoving down the disappointment that rose in my chest.

"Then we'd better finish our shopping and get home to prepare," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. Amelia gurgled in apparent agreement.

As we gathered our things and made our way back downstairs, I couldn't help but think about how quickly I'd started to think of the cottage as "home"—not just mine, but ours. That probably should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I just had to hope that DCFS would see what I saw—that Blake and I, messy and broken as we both were, could somehow be exactly what little Amelia needed. And maybe, in some strange way, we were building something bigger than just a family—we were becoming part of Willowbrook's rebirth too.

Chapter 20

Blake

How had no one else seen this side of Xander? The man who'd stepped up, who looked at me like I was the only girl in the world before he caught himself and pulled back again. It was almost like no one noticed the beautiful man he was, and only saw the doctor he’d become. But I'd seen the parts he kept hidden from the world, and lately I'd been wondering why he felt like he had to hide them in the first place.

I'd decided to pack a few things from the studio to take back home with me. Maybe see if I could turn that glimmer of something I’d felt this morning into a full-blown light show without the pressure of the easel standing in front of me.

"Ready to go?" Xander asked, his voice low as he cradled a sleeping Amelia against his chest.

I nodded, throwing my bag over my shoulder and taking one last look at the empty canvas that had taunted me over the past few months. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

We headed down the stairs, and I led us through the bookshop instead of the back door, partly because I slightly missed Daniel's lecture about proper exit protocol, but mostly because the smell of coffee and books always managed to lift my spirits, even when my artistic muse was AWOL.

As we made our way through the store, I spotted a familiar group sitting at one of the small tables near the window. Helen Schulster was there, with Marie from the bakery, and a younger blonde woman I didn't recognize. My heart dropped into my stomach.

"Xander," I whispered urgently, grabbing his arm. "What day is it?"

He frowned, shifting Amelia to his other shoulder. "Thursday, why?"

I sighed in disappointment. "I missed another lunch club meeting."

"Another what now?"

"The Wednesday Lunch Club. The mostexclusivesocial gathering in Willowbrook. They know everything about everyone." I pouted, watching the trio laugh about something. "I've been trying to get an invitation for months."

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