“Needed money.”
Her stomach dropped.
“For the shop?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Coulter.”
“Come with me.”
He led her behind the garage.
A small house sat beyond the back lot.
Adeline had walked past it almost every day.
Sagging porch.
Bare windows.
Small yard.
It had been empty since before she arrived.
Coulter held up keys.
“What did you do?”
“Bought it.”
“With the truck?”
“Mostly.”
Adeline stared at him.
“Why?”
“Come inside.”
The front door stuck slightly.
Coulter pushed harder.
The house smelled of dust and cold wood.
One light bulb hung in the living room.
Floorboards creaked.
No furniture.
No curtains.
Nothing.
Adeline turned slowly.
“You sold your truck for this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Coulter ran one hand along the doorframe.
“I spent years thinking I couldn’t love another person without betraying the first one.”
Adeline said nothing.
“The shop and my old house are full of her.”
His voice remained steady.
“They should be.”
He looked around.
“But this place isn’t.”
Adeline’s eyes filled.
“I didn’t buy it because I need a woman to keep house.”
“You better not have.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer.
“I bought it because I want somewhere we can build that doesn’t belong to grief before it belongs to us.”
Adeline pressed her lips together.
Coulter continued.
“I want somebody who leaves a light on for me.”
His voice softened.
“Not because she has to.”
A tear slipped down Adeline’s cheek.
She wiped it away angrily.
Coulter smiled slightly.
“Because she wants to.”
“Coulter.”
“I think that’s you.”
She looked at the empty room.
The sagging porch.
Dust suspended in late-afternoon sunlight.
A man who had spent years refusing help had sold the thing he loved most to create space for a future he was not certain she would accept.
Adeline thought about Detroit.
Her emptying savings.
Her cousin’s couch.
The nineteen unanswered job applications.
The first morning she entered the garage.
I need a wife.
She laughed through tears.
“That was still the worst job interview I’ve ever had.”
Coulter laughed.
“I know.”
“You insulted me.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t even offer wages.”
“I corrected that.”
“Eventually.”
“Adeline.”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t heard the rest.”
“I don’t need the rest.”
The laugh that came from Coulter surprised them both.
Full.
Warm.
Young.
Adeline had never heard him sound like that.
He reached for her.