If I had the skills, I’d perform the DNA tests on the DNA from Bear’s mouth and the clove cigarettes myself. I thought I’d have the DNA profile back by now, but I’m still waiting.
Waiting isn’t my strength.
So I took all that energy and channeled it into finishing this project.
The rest of the barn still looks like a construction site.
Open studs, exposed wiring, half-finished stalls, dust.
But this room just needs the finishing touches.
Moonlight pours in through the three large windows and French door along the north wall, washing the room in soft, natural light. That’s the first thing I researched.
Artists want light. Natural light.
The walls are painted a warm ivory instead of unfinished barn wood. The vaulted ceiling leaves the exposed timber trusses visible above, giving the room enough height for oversized canvases without making it feel cavernous. Every light fixture hangs on its own switch, so she can brighten one corner without washing out the entire room. Ventilation ductwork disappears into the ceiling, quietly pulling away paint fumes.
Cabinets and a counter line the south wall from floor to ceiling, and floating shelves fill half of the east wall. Among the cabinets on the south wall is a deep utility sink, and the counter contains jars of brushes. Narrow drying racks slide out from one side of the room like giant filing cabinets. Beside the drying racks, I installed vertical slots that hold blank canvases sorted by size.
If she has to spend most of her time at Falling Sky, I want her to have something here that’s entirely her own.
Blake doesn’t realize it, but she’s always rubbing her fingertips together or opening and closing her hand as if she’s missing something.
A paintbrush.
Every time I saw it, I wanted to fix it. I wanted to be able to pull a brush out of thin air and hand it to her.
In the last week, the analytical look in her eye has faded. She used to look at the Snake River Mountains as if she wanted to capture them on her canvas, planning how she’d mix her paints to get the colors right.
Deeming the shelves sufficient, I return to assembling the easels by the windows. I cut enough wood for three.
One large enough for oversized canvases.
One tabletop model.
One lighter so she can drag it outside if she wants.
After these, I just need to finish the patio I started on the outside of the north wall, but I figured she wouldn’t use it until the summer.
With my back to the open door, I listen as footsteps tread into the room. Santiago and Levi have come around this time, the last few nights, to help.
“Can you hand me the screwdriver with the red handle? It should be on the counter by the sink.”
“Walker?”
My body goes rigid as I slowly turn around. Blake stands in the doorway with wide eyes.
She’s dressed like she was about to go to bed. She’s wearing one of my hoodies that hangs down to her mid-thigh and slippers. Her legs are bare as if she’s not wearing anything underneath.
The thought of being able to slip my hand under the hem and find her bare has my cock growing stiff.
Blake takes a step into the room and wanders to the cabinets to her left. She opens them one at a time and explores their contents. I filled them with supplies this morning. Everything from paint thinner and paper towels to every color of oil paint that I could find.
My stomach turns in knots, waiting for her to say something.
She moves to the drawers, pulling them open one at a time and examining the blank canvases I stocked for her.
Next, her steps lead her to me. She stares up at me, and I can’t quite make out the look on her face.
