She presses her lips together a moment before responding. “Just because they’re strangers, doesn’t mean they don’t deserve the best. Whoever makes this their forever home deserves a whole hallway full of bold windows teasing in sunshine or freshly mown grass or … whatever. They deserve bookshelves lovingly restored to house their favorite books or collectibles. They deserve a cozy nook for a respite from the world, and I can give it to them. We can. All we have to do”—she wraps up her impassioned speech—“is build a bathroom over there.” She points to the invisible space next to the bedroom.

“All I have to do, you mean.”

“Right.” She deflates, shaking her head and exhaling sharply. “You’re right. It’s asking too much, especially with that shithole of a kitchen…” She turns slowly, taking everything in. I can practically see her rearranging everything to fit. “I can compromise,” she says finally. “We can do it the easy way.”

I should feel relieved. It’s not for her. It’s not for me.

It’s not for us.

But I don’t feel relieved.

I feel …

I groan. “We’ll do the bathroom off the back.”

Her fine blond brows scrunch under her bangs. “Cam, you don’t have to—”

“You gave one helluva TED Talk about how it’s a gift for strangers and not for us, but that’s the thing, it’s from us. You know? Shelby Springfield and Cameron Riggs. Our names are going to be on this house. HomeMade is ours. And I want it to be perfect.”

“Nothing is ever perfect, Cam.”

“Maybe not the outcome, but the effort will be. All in, right?”

Her smile is blinding, and I’m staggered. She is going to murder me. Just like she did when we were kids and again when she called me to come save her five years ago … and now. I don’t think I’ll recover this time.

I don’t even think I care. I’ll die happy.

“All in,” she repeats and suddenly she’s closer than she was before. “What did you mean, the last time we were here, when you said you’re not sure of yourself around me?”

Ah.

“Did you mean,” she continues, “you aren’t sure about this project or did you mean something else?”

I could lie. I want to lie.

I don’t lie.

“Something else. Well”—I hesitate—“both. But at that moment, I was talking about something else.”

Please don’t ask for details.

“I’m … not sure about myself either. Around you,” she clarifies. She’s so close, I can see the ring of black in her navy eyes and the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. I will my hand not to shake as I brush soft strands out of her eyes and skim the line of her jaw. Her breath catches and her red lips part, opening and inviting.