CHAPTER FIFTY THREE **ALEXANDER**

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

**ALEXANDER**

Saturday morning the framing crew arrived early. I met Sophia at the lot before eight. She handed me a thermos of coffee without a word, and I took it, our fingers brushing longer than needed.

“The first posts are going in today,” I said. “I want your eyes on the studio layout before they lock it.”

Sophia nodded, stepping close so our arms touched. “Good. I dreamed about the north wall last night. The light angle. I think we need to shift the header two inches higher for the windows. Does that mess with your structure?”

I looked at her, chest tightening. “It doesn’t. I can adjust the beam. You dreamed about it. That means you’re carrying this with me even when you’re asleep. I love that. It makes me want to redesign the whole thing if it gives you one better morning in that studio.”

She smiled, small and warm. “You would. That’s what gets me. You actually listen and change things. I keep thinking about it during my quiet moments how you make space for my ideas without losing your own vision. It fascinates me. Makes me yearn to give you the same in every part of my life.”

The crew started raising the first wall. We stood back, watching, but my focus kept pulling to her profile, the way she studied the rising frame like it was already home.

“I blocked my entire Saturday,” she said quietly. “No gallery, no board calls. I want to stay until the skeleton is at least waist high. Is that okay with you?”

“More than okay.” I slipped my arm around her waist, pulling her against my side. “I was hoping you would. Having you here turns the noise into something shared. I sit with the plans at night and wonder what you’d change. Your mind has gotten inside mine completely. I crave your input now. It makes the build feel alive instead of just technical.”

Sophia leaned into me. “I crave giving it. I watch you with the crew, calm and sure, and I think, this is the man I want to build everything with. Not just walls. Futures. Mornings where we argue over paint chips and end up laughing. I’m already imagining us in the finished kitchen, you cooking while I sketch at the counter. That picture pulls at me all day.”

The first framed wall clicked into place. I pointed it out. “That’s the studio corner. Tell me if the opening feels right for your easel placement.”

She studied it, then looked back at me. “It does. But I want the door to swing wider so I can see you coming up the stairs from downstairs. Is that possible?”

“Easy change.” I signaled the foreman and explained the adjustment. When I turned back, Sophia’s eyes were soft.

“You did it again,” she said. “No pushback. Just yes. That kind of quick yes makes my heart race. I keep replaying these moments when I’m away your hands on the plans, your voice steady, your willingness to bend for me. It makes me want to bend right back. To clear more space in my schedule, to ask your opinion on every gallery decision, to make you part of my world the way you’re making me part of this one.”

I pulled her closer, voice low. “Then do it. I want in. I want to sit in your studio visits and watch you read a piece the way you read this lot. You fascinate me, Sophia. How you see art and space and people with the same sharp clarity. It makes me hungry for more of you. More mornings like this, more nights where we talk until we’re tangled and still talking.”

We walked the growing frame together. Every few steps our shoulders bumped on purpose. The chemistry felt solid now deep, quiet, built on these small honest exchanges.

“What worries you most about the next month?” she asked.

“Winter hitting hard and slowing the roof,” I admitted. “But you being here changes that. You keep me focused. I think about you during every break, wondering what you’re doing, if you’re thinking about the house, about us. The yearning is constant. I want your voice in my ear when I make calls, your hand in mine when the crew leaves. I’m falling for how steady you make me feel.”

Sophia stopped and faced me. “I feel the same pull. I sit in meetings and my mind drifts to you explaining load paths like they’re love letters. It makes the day shorter. Makes me hurry back here. You make me want to be better at sharing my own load too. I told the board yesterday I’m stepping back from one committee so I can be more present for this. For you.”

Her words landed deep. I cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re choosing us over everything. That choice does something to me. Makes me want to earn it every single day. To build this house so perfectly that you never doubt it was worth it. I’m fascinated by your strength, how you protect your time but still give it so freely to this. To me.”

The crew raised another section. We watched, but my arm stayed around her. The conversation flowed easy—her idea for the pantry layout, my thought on the stair railing, how we both wanted a small window seat in the studio for quiet moments together.

“I keep imagining us there,” I said. “You reading, me drawing, the light exactly how you wanted it. That future feels closer every hour we stand here. I crave it. Not just the house. The life inside it with you.”

She turned into me, hands on my chest. “I crave it too. The quiet evenings where we debrief the day, your head in my lap while I run my fingers through your hair. Me telling you about a tough donor and you actually listening like it matters. That kind of partnership is what I’m starting to need from you. Deeply.”

We stayed until the frame reached shoulder height. When the crew broke for lunch, Sophia pulled me aside.

“Take a break with me,” she said. “I brought sandwiches. I want ten minutes where it’s just us, no crew, no plans.”

We sat on the tailgate of my truck, eating quickly, knees touching. 

“Tell me one thing you’re excited about that has nothing to do with the build,” I said.

“You,” she answered simply. “The way you look at me when I talk about my work like it’s as important as yours. It makes me want to open up more. To show you the pieces I’m nervous about exhibiting. To ask what you see in them. I’m already addicted to how you make me feel seen.”

I set my sandwich down and kissed her, slow and sure. “Then show me everything. I want all of it. Your art, your doubts, your victories. You’ve gotten so far inside me, Sophia. I yearn for you in the middle of the day, in the middle of the night. Your laugh, your questions, the way you fit against me like this. It’s becoming everything.”

She kissed me back, deeper, then rested her forehead on mine. “Same for me. I think about your hands on the frame and then on me later. The steady way you include me. It makes me want to include you in every decision I make from now on. This chemistry between us it’s not flashy. It’s real. And I want more of it every day.”

We finished lunch and went back to the frame. The afternoon passed in more adjustments, more shared looks, more quiet admissions between tasks. By the time the crew wrapped, the skeleton stood tall enough to walk through.

Sophia took my hand as we stepped inside the future living room. “It already feels like ours.”

“Because it is,” I said. “And you’re the reason. Your input, your presence, the way you make me want to be the man who builds you the perfect studio. I’m fascinated by you, Sophia. Completely. I crave every version of you the one on site, the one in the apartment, the one I get to wake up next to for years.”

She squeezed my hand. “Then keep craving. Because I’m right here craving you back. The man who adjusts headers for my dreams. The one who makes ordinary Saturdays feel like the start of forever.”