Page 46 of Rhett & Moses
Moses nodded, conceding the point. “She has, and quite capably. But that’s for a defined period. Asking her to handle extended absences regularly is different.”
“It would require adjustments,” I acknowledged. “For both of us. But the question is whether those adjustments would be worth it. Worth having a place that’s ours, where we could build something together without either of us having to completely uproot our lives immediately.”
Moses was quiet for a long moment, his expression thoughtful as he gazed out at the property. “Can I ask something that might sound strange?”
“Of course,” I said, curious.
“Why here?” he asked, turning to face me fully. “Why near Gomillion, of all places? We both left. We both built lives elsewhere. Why come back to the place that caused us so much pain?”
It was a fair question; one I’d asked myself repeatedly since first seeing the listing. “Initially, it was practical. Geographically, it’s a reasonable midpoint between Boston and Atlanta. But the more I thought about it, the more the location felt right in other ways too.”
“Such as?” Moses prompted, his expression open, curious.
“Such as the symmetry of it,” I explained, trying to articulate feelings I’d only partially processed myself. “Coming full circle, in a way. Taking a place that represents pain and reclaiming it, transforming it into something new. And practically speaking, we know the area. We have connections here, Bronwyn, Vanessa. It wouldn’t be starting completely from scratch.”
Moses nodded slowly, absorbing my reasoning. “That makes sense. More sense than I’d expected, actually.”
“I don’t need an answer today,” I assured him, sensing his continued uncertainty. “This is just the first step. Seeing the property, considering the possibility. No pressure.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, his expression softening. “And I do see the appeal, Rhett. I really do. It’s just a lot to process after everything that’s happened this week.”
“Of course it is,” I agreed, reaching across to take his hand. “We have time. The property’s been on the market for three months already. It’s not going anywhere immediately.”
Moses squeezed my hand, gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you for showing me. For thinking of this. For...everything, really.”
A comfortable silence settled between us, broken only by the distant call of birds and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. After a while, Moses stood, pulling me to my feet beside him.
“Show me the rest of the property?” he suggested, a new lightness in his voice. “If we’re considering this place, I want to know every inch of it.”
The shift in phrasing, from “you’re considering” to “we’re considering,” didn't escape my notice, sending a flutter of hope through my chest. “Absolutely,” I agreed, trying not to read too much into the subtle change.
We spent the next hour exploring the acreage, following a well-maintained path that wound through the woods to a small clearing with a view of the distant mountains. Moses seemed to relax more with each step, asking thoughtful questions about the property’s history, the local area, and potential maintenance concerns.
As we made our way back toward the house, I spotted a weathered building partially hidden among the trees that I hadn’t noticed during my previous visit.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing toward the structure.
Moses followed my gaze, his expression curious. “Looks like an old shed or workshop. Want to check it out?”
Together, we diverted from the path, approaching the building cautiously. It was indeed a workshop of sorts, its wooden walls weathered but still solid. The door wasn’t locked, and it swung open with a protesting creak to reveal a dusty interior filled with abandoned woodworking tools and equipment.
“The realtor didn’t mention this,” I commented, examining a lathe that appeared to be at least fifty years old but remarkably well-preserved.
“Oversight, or a selling point they missed?” Moses mused, running his fingers along a workbench that spanned one wall.
“Selling point, definitely,” I decided, taking in the space with newfound appreciation. “This could be restored, turned into a proper workshop. I’ve always wanted to try my hand atfurniture making, a natural extension of architecture, working with smaller scales.”
Moses watched me with a soft expression I couldn’t quite decipher. “I can see it,” he said, quietly. “You, in here, sleeves rolled up, sawdust everywhere, completely absorbed in creating something beautiful with your hands.”
The image he painted resonated deeply, a possibility I hadn’t fully articulated even to myself. “It would be a nice counterbalance to the digital design work I do now,” I admitted. “Something tangible, immediate.”
“Balance is important,” Moses agreed, his gaze traveling around the workshop as if seeing its potential unfold. “In all things.”
We lingered in the workshop, discussing what it might become with some restoration work, before finally making our way back to the main house. As I locked up, Moses stood on the porch, looking out at the property with an expression that had shifted from cautious assessment to something closer to contemplation.
“Hungry?” I asked as we returned to the car. “There’s a little cafe in town that’s supposed to have great sandwiches.”
“Starving,” Moses admitted with a smile. “Lead the way.”
