“There are too many colors here,” she said. “I’ll never be able to choose. We’ll be in this section for hours.”

“Okay,” Luke said. “Forget looking at what’s here. If you could do whatever you wanted in the room, what would you do?”

Esme thought, biting her lip. I loved that little movement. It was entirely unconscious and told me she was actually considering his question. “Hold that thought.”

She pulled a sample of the metallic tree wallpaper and put it on the island in the center of the space and then went hunting. She pulled swatches from the gradient color racks and came back to us, spreading them alongside the wallpaper. The pale gray she’d chosen matched the paper almost exactly, and then the gradient faded through to a blue so deep it was almost purple. “Ignoring reality,” she said, “one wall would be this.” She touched the silver trees. “Like maybe the wall with the doors to the bathroom and the nest hallway. And then the rest of the walls—ceiling too—would be a really smooth gradient all the way down to this.”

“That would be beautiful,” Avery said.

“I’d probably paint clouds or stars on the dark end.”

Luke picked up all the swatches and looked at them. “This is what you would pick? For sure?”

“It’s the first thing I thought of,” she said. “Always wanted to do a gradient in a room, but it seemed tedious. I didn’t want to spend that much time with a giant airbrush.”

I laughed. “I don’t blame you.”

“All right,” Luke said. “Done. Next department.”

“Wait,” Esme reached for the swatches which he kept away. “You can’t do that—it’s not even practical.”

Luke caught her around the waist and held her against him even as he held all the swatches up out of reach. “Do you really want it?”

She bit her lip again. “Yes.”

He kissed her forehead. “Then it’s all you have to say. Go.”

Esme’s cheeks turned pink, and she stared at Luke for long seconds, judging if he was being serious. And he was. We all knew it.

Finally, she leaned in and laid her head on his chest, eyes closed. It was both concession and submission, and my heart ached at the sight of it. Esme was a woman who had her own business, survived on her own under the brutal scrutiny of the press, and knew what she wanted even if she didn’t have practice asking for it. Watching her let us in and accept the help and love she’d never had was beautiful.

“Go pick out your furniture,” Luke whispered. “And keep this in mind.”

She looked up at him and accepted another kiss on the forehead. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”