Page 65 of Rhett & Moses
It was, I reflected as I turned to the preliminary sketches I’d begun for potential renovations to the Carolina property, exactly the kind of project I’d spent my career preparing for. Taking something with good bones and great potential, preserving what worked while adapting for a new purpose, creating space for life to unfold in all its messy, beautiful complexity.
Only this time, I wasn’t designing for a client. I was designing for us. For home. For the life Moses and I would build together, day by day, choice by choice, moment by moment.
New roots. New beginnings. But the same strong foundation that had always existed between us, now finally given the chance to grow and flourish as it was always meant to do.
CHAPTER 17
MOSES
Three monthsafter our reunion in Gomillion, I stood in the center of an empty warehouse space in Atlanta, watching Rhett pace the concrete floor with the focused intensity I’d come to cherish. He moved with purpose, stopping occasionally to make notes on his tablet, measuring distances with his eyes, visualizing possibilities that weren’t yet visible to anyone else.
“What do you think?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. “Will it work?”
Rhett looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. “It’s perfect. The bones are excellent, high ceilings, good natural light from those clerestory windows, plenty of space for both production and a tasting room. And the location is ideal, just enough off the beaten path to feel exclusive, but accessible enough for customers.”
Relief washed through me. We’d spent weeks searching for the right space, somewhere large enough to accommodate my vision for Distilled Dreams 2.0, the gin distillery that would complement my existing bar while expanding into production on a scale I’d only dreamed of previously.
“So, we can make it work?” I pressed, needing confirmation from him.
“More than work,” Rhett assured me, crossing the room to stand beside me. “We can make it exceptional.”
The easy confidence in his voice settled something in my chest. This project, this dream, had been percolating for years, but I’d never found the right moment, the right circumstances, to bring it to fruition. Until now. Until Rhett.
The past three months had been a whirlwind of change and possibility. After our decisive conversation in Boston, where we’d agreed to accelerate our timeline and make an offer on the Carolina property, everything had seemed to fall into place with almost suspicious ease.
The offer had been accepted with minimal negotiation. The financing had been arranged through a combination of our resources. Renovations had begun under the supervision of a contractor Rhett trusted from previous projects. And most surprisingly of all, our long-distance relationship had not just survived but thrived under the challenging circumstances.
We’d developed a rhythm, weekly video calls, text messages throughout the day, and alternating visits between Boston, Atlanta, and the Carolina property as our schedules allowed. The distance was difficult, certainly, but it had also forced us to communicate with a clarity and intentionality that might have been easy to neglect had we been in the same city from the beginning.
And now, as we stood together in this empty warehouse that represented the next phase of my professional journey, I found myself grateful for the foundation we’d built, strong enough to support not just our personal relationship, but our professional collaboration as well.
“When can we start the renovations?” I asked, already imagining the space transformed, copper stills gleaming under thoughtfully placed lights, wooden barrels aging specialreleases, comfortable seating areas where customers could sample the results.
“As soon as the permits clear,” Rhett replied, slipping naturally into his professional mode. “I’ve already drafted preliminary plans based on your specifications. Once you approve them, we can submit for permits. Assuming no major issues, we could break ground in six to eight weeks.”
“That fast?” I was genuinely surprised. In my limited experience with construction projects, nothing ever happened quickly.
Rhett smiled, a hint of pride in his expression. “One advantage of dating an architect with connections in multiple cities. I know who to call, which offices to approach, how to navigate the bureaucracy. It also helps that your concept is exactly the kind of artisanal, locally-owned business that Atlanta is eager to support right now.”
I shook my head, still amazed at how effectively Rhett moved through the world, the quiet confidence, the extensive network of relationships, the ability to make things happen through a combination of expertise and personal connection.
“Remind me to keep you around,” I teased, though the sentiment beneath was entirely serious.
“That’s the plan,” Rhett replied, his hand finding mine with easy familiarity. “At least, it’s my plan.”
The simple declaration, delivered with his characteristic blend of certainty and vulnerability, warmed me from the inside out. Three months ago, such casual references to our shared future might have triggered panic, a reflexive retreat into self-protection. Now, they felt like promises I could believe in, build upon.
“Mine too,” I assured him, squeezing his hand gently.
We spent another hour in the warehouse, discussing possibilities, envisioning the transformation from empty spaceto working distillery. Rhett took measurements and photos, his architect’s mind already drafting and redrafting concepts as we talked. I focused on the practical aspects of production flow, ingredient storage, customer experience, the considerations that would make the difference between a beautiful space and a functional business.
By the time we left, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the parking lot as we made our way to my car. The early autumn air held just a hint of crispness, a welcome relief after Atlanta’s punishing summer heat.
“Dinner at my place?” I suggested as we settled into the car. “Or we could try that new place on Peachtree you’ve been curious about.”
Rhett considered for a moment. “Your place,” he decided. “I’ve had enough people for one day. Just want you.”
I smiled, understanding completely. Though Rhett thrived in social settings, his natural charm and genuine interest in others making him effortlessly popular, he was, at heart, an introvert who needed quiet time to recharge. It was one of the many things we had in common, one of the countless small compatibilities we’d discovered during our months of reconnection.
