"You know," he says, "Before anyone it was just me and five acres and a bar that barely broke even."
"I know."
"I didn't know what I was building. I just knew I needed space. Room for something. People, eventually. A pride." He glances at me. "Took twelve years to fill it."
"Worth the wait?"
"Every year." He claps my shoulder. The alpha grip, firm, brief, everything he can't say in words compressed into three seconds of contact. "Be patient with him, Silas. He's worth building for."
"I know."
"Good." He picks up the blueprints. "Now come help Vaughn with the fence line. He's been out there since six and he's getting grumpy."
"Vaughn's always grumpy."
"Grumpier."
I follow Knox to the fence line where Vaughn is pulling old posts with the focused aggression of a man who'd rather tear things apart than talk about feelings. The morning is cold, the work is physical, and the sounds of the bar waking up behind us, Jason's kitchen, Robin's voice as he leaves for the cafe, Ezra's laptop, the rhythm of too many people living on top of each other in a space built for far less, remind me why we're doing this.
My phone buzzes at 9 AM. Devin:Good morning. How's the garage?
At the fence line today. Manual labor.
Devin:You? Manual labor?
I contain multitudes.
Devin:You contain a lot of opinions about Patrick Rothfuss. Manual labor is new.
Vaughn's teaching me to pull fence posts. It's harder than it looks.
Devin:Everything Vaughn does looks hard. He's Vaughn.
Fair point. How's the café?
Devin:Robin's making me test Autumn Awakening v7. It's actually good this time. He's suspicious of his own success.
That tracks.
Devin:Also someone complained about the espresso and I fixed it while maintaining eye contact. Robin says I'm "weaponizing competence" and he's giving me another raise.
You're going to make more than me soon.
Devin:I already make more than you. You work for free in a garage.
I work for pride and family.
Devin:That's a beautiful sentiment and also not legal tender.
I put my phone away and go back to pulling fence posts. The foundations sit behind us, solid and waiting. A couple weeks until Devin's apartment. Five months until the houses. The math isn't mine to do, but I find myself doing it anyway, measuring the distance between now and the reading nook, between the apartment he wants and the bookshelves he doesn't know about yet.
Knox is right. Be patient. Build something worth coming home to.
I can do that.
Chapter 18
Devin