Page 19 of The Write Choice

I drag my eyes away from the painting so I can turn to face him. He’s still wistfully studying it over my head as I watch him. Finally, he looks at me, his eyes searching mine, suddenly uncertain. “Is that…okay?”

I don’t have words. This might be the sweetest, most thoughtful thing he’s ever done, and I’m not sure how to express how touched I am. I huff out something close to a laugh, and he looks pleased at the sound.

“Yeah, Brandon,” I breathe. “It’s okay.”

“I love you, Katie. I always have.” His voice is husky, and it does things to my insides I’m not proud of.

“That’s not fair,” I choke out.

This was clearly not the response he was expecting, because he frowns at me. “What’s not fair?”

I find a little more confidence as I continue. “I haven’t even been here for five minutes, and you’re pulling out all the stops. You said I have two months to decide.”

His knitted brows pull apart as a corner of his mouth turns up into a wicked grin. “I’m hoping you won’t need two months, Cat.” I shiver at the nickname, which makes his expression turn even more sinful. He leans in close as he says, “And you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to keep exploring the house, I guess.”

I hum skeptically as I hear the pitter-pat of little footsteps running through the house. “Dad, this place is awesome!” Mason yells as he runs past us in a blur to the kitchen. Christine’s shorter steps sound behind him, but she stops to clutch Brandon’s legs.

He picks her up and tosses her toward the ceiling, catching her as she squeals. “What do you think, Chrissy-pie? You like your room?”

“It’s a princess room!” She giggles.

“Only the best for my princess.” He taps her nose, and she squeals again.

“Mom! My room has a slide in it!” Mason yells around a mouthful of snacks.

I arch an eyebrow at Brandon, who has the good sense to look sheepish. “It’s a loft bed with a ladder on one side and a slide on the other.”

“Sounds like a death trap,” I mutter.

Brandon chuckles. “It’s fine. I built it myself.”

“That isn’t as reassuring as you think it should be.”

He opens his mouth and lowers his eyebrows in mock affront. “I’m an architect,” he insists.

“You’re not a builder.”

He shrugs. “Potato, po-tah-to.” He tilts his head to beckon me further into the house. “Come see the rest.”

Before I can walk through the kitchen and living room area, Mason grabs me by the hand and drags me up to see his new bed. I have to admit, it is pretty cool. He and Christine start racing up and sliding down, so I leave Brandon to supervise them while I look at the rest of the house.

Christine’s room looks like a princess threw up sparkles and pink tulle all over it. Her bed is huge and has a canopy with gauzy curtains hanging all the way to the floor. Her stuffed animal collection sits, well-organized, by the pillows, and there’s a little table in the corner with two more animals having an imaginary tea party. It’s no wonder she loves it.

The kitchen and living room are expansive. The windows are huge and let in a lot of natural light. I could see myself setting up my little easel in this room and painting while the kids play.

I open and close a few doors, all of them leading to closets. This place has plenty of storage, that’s for sure. There’s a half bathroom off the living room, which is good since Christine still needs a toilet close by. Next to the bathroom is a door that I assume is to another closet. When I open it, though, I see it’s a good-sized room with the same large windows featured in the living room. I step inside, and that’s when I notice what Brandon has set up.

There is a desk under the bank of windows with an adjustable top that can tilt up or lay flat. Right now, it’s tilted up and a new sketch pad rests on top of it. On a rolling cart next to the desk, there are pottery cups full of pencils, colored pencils, brushes, and paints. My easel is set up in the corner, a larger canvas balanced on it and a new stool in front of it.

The walls have strips attached in a cross-hatch pattern, and on the strips are hooks and clips that will make it easy to hang pictures to see in the light from the window. A drying rack also sits to the side. There’s already a page torn out of my sketchbook on display. I take a few steps toward it before I can clearly make out what it is. When I do, I gasp as my hand flies to my mouth.

Hanging in front of me is the drawing I started a few weeks ago of Brandon and the kids at a pumpkin patch. I haven’t looked at this piece since I sketched it out a few weeks ago. I love it, but it pains me to look at it. Brandon hasn’t had much time to spend with the kids lately, so I had to make up a scene for them. Despite my pride in my work, I wish it were a real scene.

“The room isn’t finished.” Brandon’s voice is soft behind me, and I whirl around in surprise, my hand still covering my mouth. He is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks around as if seeing the space through my eyes. “I tried to get most of the basic supplies, but I’m sure you have others you’ll need. There’s an art supply store in the strip mall just up the road. And I wasn’t sure exactly where to put the desk or the easel. But we can move them. Just tell me where.” He indicates a large basin in the far corner. “I’m going to have a plumber put a sink in over there, but the ground is too cold for that kind of work right now. Maybe this summer.” He glances at me, then at the wall. “If we stay.”