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She’s turned old junk into unique, heartfelt warmth.
She’s given me a home—at least a few room’s worth—and suddenly it’s not just her dilemma that makes me want to keep her around.
Goddamn, this woman could be lethal to bachelorhood.
If only claiming her wouldn’t be the biggest dick move on the planet.
I make my way into the kitchen and have to stop, taking a look at another board lined with pictures.
For this one, she used copper wiring. It has pictures of me I barely remember from my military days.
An infectious grin eats at my face as an old Polaroid catches my eye, my younger self standing outside Kandahar with Faulk and a few other guys. We’d finished up a dangerous recon that day and pitched our camp in this dangerous stretch of mountains.
“She made that one to hang in your office, but you were in there,” Tobin says, sneaky as ever.
I whip around, flashing him a dirty look.
“Dick move, buddy. That bell’s coming one day, I swear.” I shake my head, turning back to the pictures.
“She wanted to surprise you. I dug out the old albums and supplied her with photos that seemed suitable. The final product has a certain aesthetic, doesn’t it?” he muses softly.
“Sure. Did I ever tell you about the time in that picture? We reconned this insurgent compound tucked away in the mountains. Faulk, he found this old tank on the way back half buried in mud. Must’ve been left over from the Russians, but the important thing is what we found inside.”
Tobin looks at me slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Please tell me it’s not X-rated.”
“Nah, you wish. It was this ancient bottle of vodka in perfect condition, probably twenty or thirty years old. Knowing the Soviet shit was little better than moonshine sometimes, we drew straws on who’d be the first to try it.” I stab a thumb at my chest. “Lucky me. I lived to tell the tale, obviously, but I was so plastered off my ass an hour later the guys couldn’t stop roaring.”
“Charming.” He’s completely iced over with sarcasm. “However, if you’re satisfied with Miss Sellers’ work, I suppose—”
“Satisfied? Everything I’ve seen is the shit, Tobin.” I clap him loudly on the shoulder. “Thanks for getting her that stuff.”
He gives me a slight smile. I know Tobin, and as much as he appreciates etiquette that’d drive a royal crazy, he hates when people slobber all over him with praise, too.
Still, I’m grateful he was a part of this, even if Grace was the miracle worker.
I follow him into the dining room where dinner waits, noticing other new additions on the walls, floor, and counters.
“See?” I tell Tobin as I sit down at the table. “Perfection. Nothing overdone. It’s all little things that seem to flow together. This place already feels brighter.”
His lips pull into a thin line as he serves us both these sinful steaks with asparagus in some citrus glaze, a chickpea mash with roasted garlic on the side.
“I have to agree,” Tobin says. “She’s off to a running start. I helped her place an order online for some pillows, rugs, candles, and other miscellaneous items. The flowers should arrive next week. We also have another box of artifacts in the laundry room waiting to be cleaned. I’ll take care of it tonight.”
When this project started and he showed a twitch of enthusiasm, I was surprised.
Now I’m amazed at how enthralled he is.
“Grace has a rare creative hand,” Tobin tells me between perfectly paced bites of food. “You should’ve seen her. She’d simply pick up an item, look at it, and then tell me what we could do and where we could find it a home. I was skeptical at first, but I tell you, Ridge…her vision is remarkable. She just crafts a scene in her head, sketches a few scenes, and then brings it to life.”
“I can tell,” I say. “The place looks great.”
We spend—well, actually Tobin spends—most of the meal discussing other ideas he and Grace schemed up. I listen, but I don’t hear everything because my mind is mainly on Grace herself.
She’s damn good at what she does.
No denying it.
She’ll be able to do whatever she wants with home décor, once this crap is behind her.
Hell, all I’d have to do is make a couple phone calls, and she’d be slammed with so many orders for those old boards with personalized photos that she’d need to hire a whole team.
I smile between bites of steak. It’s rare when something bridges my old life with the new so cleanly.
Her work does that without any bitterness, regret, or flash of the hell that drove me out here.
If I can look at her stuff for the rest of my life this easily, then maybe I can learn to let the fuck go, too.
After supper, I open the back door to walk over to the cabin and thank her in person, but I see her walking up the pathway from the barn first.
