Page 213 of That Rush

“Electric,” I say. “No smoke or maintenance.”

“Desk beside the window?”

“She’ll want the light without losing the view.”

“And the chair?”

“Wide enough to curl up in.”

He makes another note. “You were specific about that.”

I know exactly how Paige reads. One leg folds beneath her while the other stretches over the arm. Her mouth moves slightly when a scene catches her. If I interrupt during a filthy part, she looks up with innocent eyes and makes me regret every piece of clothing between us.

Twelve nights without touching her has wrecked my concentration.

I pull the shelf free and set it against the wall.

The floor, electrical work, and new roof vent are finished. The rest of the changes are about what the space offers her, including the right to leave it empty and quiet.

“The porch stays?” he asks.

“Extend it along the west side. Add the hammock hooks where she can see the mountains.”

“You want the entrance facing away from the house now.”

“Yes.”

The old door faces the foreman’s house, close enough that I treated the short walk between them as proof this building belonged to our shared home. The new entrance will open toward the private porch and ranch road. Paige can arrive, leave, or sit outside without passing through my space first.

I point to the door hardware listed at the bottom of the order. “Key the lock separately from every other building on the ranch. All copies go to Paige.”

“You don’t want one?”

“No.”

His eyebrows rise.

“If she accepts the room, she controls who enters it.”

He glances toward the narrow cabinet in its cardboard packaging—the one I’d ordered to hold the clothes, books, and toiletries Paige was always carrying between houses.

“What about that?”

“Load it back onto your truck.”

“You don’t want storage?”

“She has a home for her things.”

The carpenter nods and walks over to mark the new doorway. I kneel to remove the next shelf.

If Paige ever wants to leave a book here, she can. If she wants a toothbrush in my bathroom again, I will clear the entire damn counter. Every choice remains hers to make.

The room will offer a fireplace, a desk, and more shelves than any reasonable person needs. It will also have a door she can lock against me, my daughter, and every Slade who considers knocking an optional courtesy.

Especially my father.

The office door opens behind me.