Chapter Thirteen
By November, the building had walls.
This delighted Wren more than she expected.
She drove past the construction site at least twice a day.
Three times if she could invent a reason.
Daniel knew.
Of course he did.
“You’re stalking a building.”
Wren stood beside him behind the temporary construction fence wearing a hard hat that made her look, in Daniel’s opinion, alarmingly pleased with herself.
“It’s my building.”
“Our building.”
“The town’s building.”
“Better.”
She smiled.
Construction had changed Willow Creek’s rhythm.
Trucks.
Workers.
Mud.
Occasional road closures that generated levels of public outrage wildly disproportionate to their duration.
Dale complained about parking even though the parking lot did not yet exist.
Lottie had begun bringing coffee to the site superintendent and then using the opportunity to ask whether the roof was being installed correctly.
Daniel had instructed the superintendent not to accept architectural direction from Lottie.
The superintendent had laughed.
Daniel had not.
Wren stood inside what would eventually become the café.
No walls finished yet.
Studs.
Concrete.
Rough openings.
But she could see it.
She walked toward the future counter.
“Here.”
“Yes.”
“Espresso machine.”
“Yes.”
“Pastry case.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel.”
He looked up from the plans.
“What?”
“I know you know.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because I like hearing yes.”
He smiled.
Dangerous woman.
Wren crossed toward the window opening.
The future terrace stretched beyond.
Main Street visible in the distance.
“It’s good.”
Daniel came beside her.
“It will be.”
“No. Now.”
He looked at the raw structure.
“What is?”
“This part.”
She gestured.
“Seeing it before it’s pretty.”
Daniel understood.
The bones.
The invisible work.
The part most people never saw.
He looked at her.
“Liminal architecture.”
Wren gasped.
“You said it.”
“I regret it already.”
“No, no. It’s mine now.”
“It was always yours.”
She smiled.
Daniel kissed her temple.
They had become casual about affection.
Hand at her back.
Kisses in passing.
Her feet in his lap.
His jacket over her shoulders.
Nothing dramatic.
Daniel had discovered he liked that most.
Ordinary intimacy.
He hadn’t expected Wren to make ordinary feel so interesting.
His phone rang.
He checked.
His firm.
Again.
Wren noticed.
“You should answer.”
Daniel did.
This call lasted longer.
When it ended, he didn’t put the phone away immediately.
Wren watched.
“What?”
Daniel looked at the construction site.
“My partner wants me back full-time in January.”
There it was.
The question they’d avoided designing.
Wren nodded slowly.
“The project here?”
“Construction administration can be handled remotely with scheduled site visits.”
“Oh.”
Daniel hated the sound.
Not wounded.
Just disappointed.
Which was somehow worse.
He tucked away the phone.
“January isn’t tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Building opens in spring.”
“Yes.”
Wren looked toward the café.
Daniel watched her.
“Wren.”
She turned.
“No heavy faces.”
He almost smiled.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
Wren nodded.
“Okay.”
She believed him.
Mostly.
That was enough for today.
Founders Day happened two Saturdays later.
Willow Creek decorated itself in bunting, flags, flower arrangements, pie signs, and enough handmade crafts to constitute a fire hazard.
Daniel arrived at Wren’s house at seven thirty.
She opened the door wearing pajamas.
He looked at his watch.
“You said seven thirty.”
“I lied.”
Daniel stared.
Wren smiled.
“You’re learning.”
“Go get dressed.”
“Bossy.”
“You told me to be here.”
“Coffee first.”
Daniel held up a cup.
Wren kissed him.
“Marry me.”
Both froze.
Wren’s eyes widened.
Daniel’s eyebrows rose.
“I meant metaphorically.”
“Obviously.”
“Coffee marriage.”
“Understood.”
“Temporary.”
“Wren.”
She closed the door.
Daniel heard her yell from inside.
“WE NEVER SPEAK OF THIS.”
He smiled.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Founders Day consumed the entire town.
Daniel was assigned to help Caleb judge the architectural-model contest at the elementary school.
He had not known there was an architectural-model contest.
Wren had arranged it.
Of course.
Children had built versions of “Willow Creek in fifty years” using cardboard, craft sticks, cereal boxes, and in one case approximately six pounds of glitter.
Daniel crouched beside a model created by an eight-year-old girl.
“What is this?”
“Flying library.”
He nodded.
“Good circulation?”
She stared.
Wren leaned over his shoulder.
“She means can people get in.”
“Oh.”
The girl nodded.
“Teleporting.”
Daniel wrote excellent on the score sheet.
Wren whispered, “Very flexible code enforcement.”
He looked at her.
“Future technology.”
She smiled.
Later came pies.
Music.
A parade.
Daniel somehow ended up riding in Caleb’s truck because the town wanted to “thank the architect.”
Wren walked beside a float dressed like a giant book.
Daniel stared.
She waved.
He laughed so hard Caleb nearly drove into a hay bale.
That night, string lights—real ones, despite Daniel’s objections—hung above Main Street.
Wren found him near the unfinished center.
Music carried from downtown.
The building rose dark against the sky.
“You’re missing the dance.”
“So are you.”
“I came looking for you.”
Daniel smiled.
He held out his hand.
Wren took it.
They danced on the unfinished pavement.
No crowd.
No interruptions.
Just distant music.
Daniel’s hand at her waist.
Wren’s cheek near his shoulder.
“This is nice,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You agree too easily now.”
“I’ve been worn down.”
“Excellent.”
They turned slowly.
Wren looked up.
“January.”
Daniel sighed.
“No.”
“We need to talk eventually.”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
Daniel stopped.
Not because the question scared him.
Because he wanted to answer accurately.
“I want you.”
Wren went quiet.
Daniel continued.
“And I want my work.”
“Good.”
“And I don’t think those things have to compete.”
Her eyes warmed.
“What about Willow Creek?”
Daniel looked toward the building.
Then Main Street.
Then Wren.
“I don’t know yet.”
She nodded.
Again, honesty.
Good.
Wren leaned closer.
“Okay.”
Daniel kissed her forehead.
“We have time.”
“Don’t architect it to death.”
He smiled.
“No promises.”
Later, after the festival ended, they sat on the hood of Daniel’s car eating leftover pie from paper plates.
Wren swung one boot.
“Can I tell you something weird?”
Daniel took a bite.
“That category is broad.”
“I don’t want you to move here for me.”
He stopped chewing.
Wren looked at him.
“I mean it.”
“Why?”
“Because then every time something annoys you, I’ll wonder if you gave something up.”
Daniel set down the fork.
“And you moving to the city?”
She shook her head.
“Same problem.”
He nodded.
Fair.
“So?”
Wren smiled.
“We design something better.”
Daniel stared.
She laughed.
“Look at that. I got you with your own metaphor.”
He smiled.
“Apparently.”
“Something that fits how we actually live.”
Daniel looked toward the center.
Modern.
Warm.
New.
Still Willow Creek.
He liked the idea.
Very much.