Page 4 of Tessa and Nash

I pause, one hand on the doorframe, and glance back. “No promises.”

His eyes narrow, but there’s a tickle of amusement there.

Inside, the house is quiet. The good kind of quiet. The kind that doesn’t judge you for pacing the floor or thinking too loud.

I shut my door behind me and lean my forehead against it, breathing out hard.

This is it.

I cross the room in three long strides and yank my notebook off the desk, nearly knocking over the lamp in the process. It’s already open to a dog-eared page, old scribbles and half ideas crowding the margins. Arrows leading nowhere, boxes never checked.

Not this time.

I flip to a clean page, and the sight of it sends a jolt of electricity straight through my chest.

Fresh page. Fresh year.

The pen feels solid in my hand. I don’t hesitate.

A rough rectangle becomes the old building at the edge of the property. I label it EDGE CABIN (GOOD BONES), then underline it twice and add a star in the corner, my shorthand for don’t screw this up.

I sketch the porch I already framed last fall, and add windows where I know the morning light cuts in best.

“This works,” I mutter. “It actually works.”

I draw another box beside it. Smaller.

Then another.

Between them, I scribble SPACE = QUIET = $$$ with a crooked arrow looping back to QUIET, because that’s the most important part.

My notes start drifting sideways, filling the margins.

NOT TOURISTS → GUESTS.

Circle around guests, double underline,

REAL WORK, NOT A SHOW.

I draw a stick figure cowboy with a ridiculous hat, cross it out hard, then replace it with a boot print.

EXPERIENCE > COSTUME.

My foot taps against the floor, energy buzzing through me. I flip the page and start connecting ideas with arrows that only I’ll ever understand.

A sun doodle in the top corner.

= SOLAR (ASK TOMMY?)

A squiggly line near the bottom of the page.

~~~~ = CREEK.

NO BUILD. EVER.

I box that last one in so thick the paper nearly tears.

The words are messy. Slanted. Some are upside down because I don’t bother turning the notebook when my brain jumps tracks.