Page 135 of The Locksmith's Promise

“We’ll build a garage,” Baxter answered then threw me a wink. “An unattached garage where they can play all day and night without bothering anybody.”

“Good,” Miller grunted. “It’s the least you can do.”

“What about a music studio?” I suggested. “Might be nice for you to have a dedicated space to teach as well as for the boys to practice.”

He flushed and cocked a brow. “You think so?”

Every now and then, it hit me how unaccustomed Baxter was to asking for anything for himself.

“Sure,” I replied, raising my face to the sun. “You’ll need a space to build your business.”

Teaching at the school was fine for now but wasn’t a good long-term solution. And while Baxter wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to go all in with teaching music, he was equally ambivalent about his work as a contractor.

The only thing he was sure of was locks.

And after a lifetime of working just to survive, he deserved the opportunity to slowly feel his way forward before committing to either venture.

And if he wanted to dabble in all three?

That was fair, too.

“The contractors in Mapleville are amazing,” Miller interrupted my chain of thought. “They’re a family-run business, three brothers and their dad,” he explained. “They were great when Maxine and I renovated the house. They had no problem with us doing some of the work ourselves to keep the costs down.”

“You don’t have to keep selling them, Mills. We hired them,” Baxter teased. “We’re breaking ground in the spring.”

“Good. And you know, between you, me, Eric, and John, we can do a lot of the work,” he continued.

Baxter gripped him by the shoulder. “I know, man.”

Miller slapped his palm over Baxter’s. Clearing his throat, he stepped back and looked at me. “I’m going to head home to help Maxine get ready. We’ll see you tonight?”

“You bet,” I replied.

“Jenny always brings her cinnamon buns when we do potluck.” Miller grinned before trotting to his truck. “Man, it’s good to have the whole crew back together.”

“Poor guy,” I murmured.

Pulling my back against his chest, Baxter wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. “Great guy,” he corrected.

“Truly.” I turned in his embrace and looped my arms around his neck. “You’re a great guy,” I murmured. “The best guy, actually.”

He smiled down at me. “I try.”

I smiled back, happier than I ever dreamed I could be. “Well? It’s been two weeks. How’s family life treating you?”

He shrugged, the corners of his lips turning down. “It’s not exactly what I thought it would be.”

I blinked and drew back, studying his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Releasing me, he stepped back and shoved his hands into his front pockets. Rocking back on his heels, he tipped his chin back and studied me. “It’s just not how I imagined it.”

I turned my face away as I absorbed his words.

What did he think it would be? What exactly had he imagined?

I turned around and took two steps away from him, then spun on my heel to find him down on one knee in the snow.

Eyes sober, he held a small box out in front of him.

---