We step inside the converted warehouse, and I’m overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, by the volume of the room, by the sugary smells and rising heat. There’s a small stage where a trio is playing acoustic music, and laid over that is the sound of dozens of different voices, grating and out-of-tune.

Ari pulls me in tighter, and I take a deep breath and try to calm my anxiety by focusing on how I would draw this place—this beautiful place that belongs to Jack. The first thing I notice are the lavender walls, bright and cheerful and so damn gay. Industrial lights wash the room in a warm glow and a giant window facing the east must fill the space with natural light every morning. On the opposite side of the room from the stage there’s the giant counter, the exposed kitchen, the glass display case filled with a million different colors of pastries and pies and cookies and cupcakes. In between is a hodgepodge of tables. Some customers are sitting down, using forks to dive into delicious desserts, but most people are standing, milling around, sampling the food as it’s carried around the room on platters.

I spot the grandmas, passing out macarons on serving trays. Katherine is wearing an apron and refilling coffee cups. Dylan and Andrew are surrounded by hip-looking twentysomethings, and I can see Andrew animatedly talking up the place: he’s in full investment-bro mode, but he’s out here putting that broiness to good use. And he’s holding Dylan’s hand as he does it.

And then there’s Jack. I spot her immediately, as soon as we step inside. She’s wearing her usual uniform of loose-fitting jeans and black boots, but on top, she’s gone with a linen button-down cuffed at the elbow, a purple apron with the Butch Oven logo splashed across the front. She looks like herself—like more of herself, in this place she made into a reality by sheer force of will—taking up space, demanding all the attention. Forearms and thighs. Her dark brown eyes and her half-moon smile and her extremely heavy gait. She’s not restless, not fidgeting. She seems at peace. She’s too loud, and she’s absolutely everything, chatting with the people who came here to celebrate this, to celebrate her. She accomplished her dream.