Only in Dreams(56)

“I thought it might be nice to have a picnic,” he says.

“At night?” I ask, staring at him, and then looking around again. “In the forest?”

“Eh— not exactly,” he begins. “Well, at night, and technically in a forest, but I like to think of it as a castle in a forest.”

“Christian!“ I blurt out, frustrated by the lack of a straight answer. “What cast—” But before I can finish my thought, he rounds a corner, and a building comes into focus. At least what looks like it can be a building, eventually—a large portion still appears to be a shell.

When the headlights reposition to the front of the structure, I see plenty of construction gear come into focus, stones stacked to the left, and pallets of wood that are covered with tarps to the right.

“Welcome to my home sweet home,” he says. I sit there, speechless and confused. “Or at least it will be, if I can ever finish the damn place.”

“Wait, what?” I gasp. “You’re building this?”

“Every piece from scratch,” he boasts proudly.

I look back and stare at the structure. To the left are windows that reach from floor to ceiling, and extend all the way down the wall, leading to two oversized wooden doors. It’s obvious the doors have some sort of pattern carved into them, but I’m too far away to make it out.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Well, I guess I can’t say just me. Colin helps whenever he has spare time, and deals like the one I was trying to make in Dallas will help a lot,” he continues.

“What deal?” I ask, not waiting for him, but opening the passenger door, stepping out onto the drive, taking in the insane amount of detail around me.

“I need massive steel beams brought in, and one set into that giant oak tree back there for support.”

I squint, trying to see what he is talking about, the dark shielding my vision somewhat. Then it becomes clear. “Is the house built around that tree?”

“Yeah it is, pretty cool, right,” Christian says, barely able to contain his excitement. “But when we started working on the roof we discovered some logistics about the tree expanding. So I need to build an atrium around the tree in order to allow room for the trunk to expand through the years. I had to have a structural engineer come out, and it set the project way back. Everything seems to be getting back on track though.”

“This place is incredible.” I remark, walking up the flagstone steps.

“I thought you’d like it.”

“I can’t believe you never told me about it. I’ve been here for two months,” I mutter, reaching down and touching the stone steps as I walk by.

“I was nervous.”

“What on Earth would you have to be nervous about?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. It’s important to me that you do.” There’s so much about his statement that frightens me. I decide to change the subject.

Climbing up to the front door, I stop and turn to look at him. He’s staring at me with a huge grin across his face. I feel my cheeks flush hot. “It’s so big. Won’t you get lonely all by yourself?”

“I didn’t build it for myself,” he answers, moving past me, and turning the knob to the large wooden door before pushing it open. As I take a step forward, the timer on the headlights clicks off, and I lose my footing in the darkness. Reaching out, I grab Christian’s arm and steady myself.

“Then who did you build it for?” I inquire. “An investment?”

He shakes his head, “I guess, in a way. One day, I hope to raise my family here.” The idea of him creating a family with another woman makes my chest ache, though I know a family is something he wants. “Here, hold onto the wall, and let me get the lights.”

Reaching out a hand and placing an open palm on the cool wall, I stand, waiting for the room to be illuminated.

“I wish I could see this place in the daylight,” I comment.

Christian doesn’t say a word; I can hear him fiddling with something in the corner. And in a second, the room comes to life before my eyes. A warm yellow strand of bulbs is strung back and forth throughout the room, across the large wooden rafters over our heads. A second later I hear Weezer start playing from a speaker in the corner. Instinctively, my hand shifts to my wrist, and I run my fingers over the tattoo of lyrics. He sees me.

“Does it bother him you have that?” he asks.

“He just thinks it’s an inspirational tattoo, but he doesn’t know the story behind it,” I explain.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Christian asks me pointedly.