Page 70 of The Secrets We Built Together

He squeezed my shoulder once, then walked away, leaving me with a tangle of emotions I didn't know how to sort through. I was saved from having to try when Delaney appeared at my side, looking flushed and excited.

"Everything's coming together!" she exclaimed, her hands clasped in front of her. "Xander, this place is amazing. You and Booker have done a fantastic job."

"Thanks," I said, grateful for the distraction. "Blake's artistic touch helped a lot."

Delaney grinned, watching as her friend worked with Billie on the other side of the room. "She's good at making spaces feel special. You should see what she did to her studio when she first set it up. It was like walking into her brain."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

The words slipped out before I could think better of them. Delaney's head whipped toward me, her eyes wide with surprise.

"You've been to her studio?"

"Yeah, she showed it to me a couple weeks ago. When she was trying to decide whether to do the show." I frowned at Delaney's stunned expression. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just..." She trailed off, looking back at Blake with a new expression I couldn't quite read. "She's never shownanyone her studio before. I only got a peek one time and I was only allowed to stand in the doorway."

Something in my chest expanded, warm and bright. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I've asked, but she always said it was her private space. Too personal to share." Delaney's eyes softened as she looked at me. "She must really trust you."

The weight of that trust settled over me like a mantle. Blake, who guarded her creative space so fiercely that even her best friend hadn't been allowed inside, had welcomed me in. Had shown me her work, her process, her most vulnerable self.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight.

"I need to go check on the, uh..." I gestured vaguely at nothing in particular and ducked away before Delaney could see whatever was written across my face.

I made myself busy for the next hour, moving furniture and hanging signs, anything to keep my hands occupied while my mind churned. Blake and I had been dancing around definitions, playing house while telling ourselves we were taking things slow. But there wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to take it slow anymore.

The problem was, I had no idea if Blake felt the same way. But then there was the night she was sick. Her whispered confession we hadn’t acknowledged since. Of course I knew how she felt, I just needed some way to show her that I was worthy of it. And, maybe, actually get around to asking her to move in with me for real. I still couldn’t believe I hadn’t even thought of it. I looked at my brothers busy arranging things around the room. I’d always thought I was the smart one but I was really providing right now that I wasn’t. God help us all.

I paused by the window, looking out at the sprawling ranch grounds. What had started as a modest rehabilitation center was already taking on a life of its own. The reservations had comeflooding in as soon as we'd announced the opening date—so many that Booker had pulled me aside last week with a folder full of expansion plans.

"We're fully booked for the first year, and the waiting list holds way more people than I’m comfortable with" he'd told me, his expression a mix of excitement and concern. "Every room, every program. We need to think about phase two sooner than we planned."

The success should have been purely thrilling, but it came with its own complications. More construction. More staff. More time I'd need to spend here instead of with Blake and Amelia. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension gathering there.

"Worried about the expansion?" Booker asked, appearing at my side with an uncanny sense of timing.

"A little," I admitted. "It's all happening so fast."

He nodded, following my gaze out to where the foundation for the second building had already been marked out. "We can slow down if you need to. There's no rush."

"No," I said firmly. "People need this place." I hesitated, then added, "I just need to figure out how to balance everything."

Booker's eyes flickered to where Blake was across the room. "Ah. That everything."

"Yeah."

"You know," he said carefully, "it's okay to want both. The center and them. You don't have to choose."

I sighed. "I know. I just don't want to mess either one up."

"You won't." He clapped me on the shoulder. "But you might want to actually talk toherabout it. You know, like grown ups do."

I snorted at the insinuation that Booker of all people was better at communicating than me. But then before I could point that out, I heard Blake's voice calling my name. I turned to see her weaving through the crowd, Amelia now mercifully asleep inthe stroller. She looked tired but happy, a smudge of something—dirt maybe, or ink—on her cheek.

"Hey, you," she said, a soft smile playing on her lips.

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