Chapter 10 - Skylines and Sawdust
Eighteen months later.
The early October wind off Lake Michigan carried the sharp, familiar bite of approaching winter, sending golden leaves swirling across the concrete apron of Cole & Bennett Architectural Arts on Goose Island.
Inside our converted brick warehouse, the sweet, earthy smell of fresh cedar mingled with the sharp tang of drafting ink.
To the right of the central floor, my apprentices were dry-fitting massive, hand-hewn white oak beams for the historic restoration of a 19th-century meatpacking warehouse in the West Loop. To the left, behind a floor-to-ceiling glass partition, Claire’s design team stood around an illuminated drafting table, reviewing structural blueprints for the new lakefront cultural pavilion.
Our names were on the heavy brass sign above the front entrance: COLE & BENNETT.
At twelve o’clock sharp, the glass door of the design suite clicked open.
Claire walked out onto the shop floor wearing dark denim trousers, work boots with faint paint flecks, and a tailored cream blazer. In her hands, she carried two ceramic mugs.
She walked straight past the apprentices, navigated the maze of lumber racks with the practiced ease of someone who owned every inch of the space, and stopped beside my workbench.
She set a mug down beside my hand planes.
“Oat milk. No sugar.”
I looked up from the delicate crown molding I was shaping, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my forearm. “Eight and a half years, and you still haven't gotten the order wrong.”
“I don't make design errors,” she said, perching herself casually on the corner of the workbench.
Her hazel eyes caught the afternoon sunlight streaming through the industrial clerestory windows. On her left ring finger, a custom-designed band of raw rose gold and polished walnut wood caught the light. We had gotten married six months ago in the restored auditorium of the Bellweather Theater back in Richmond, with Councilman Miller officiating and three hundred local artisans cheering from the balcony.
I reached out, resting my hand over her knee, feeling the warmth of her through the denim. “How’s the master plan for the river walk?”
“The city council approved the timber canopy this morning,” she said, a brilliant, radiant smile breaking across her face. “Without a single modification to your millwork estimates.”
“Of course they didn't,” I chuckled. “Architects finally learned to listen to the carpenter.”
“Don't get cocky, Cole,” she laughed, leaning down until her lips brushed against mine. “You still can't read a digital elevation map without squinting.”
“I don't need a map,” I whispered against her mouth, pulling her off the edge of the bench and into the shelter of my arms. “I just follow you.”
Claire rested her forehead against mine, her hands resting flat against my chest where my heart beat strong, open, and entirely hers. Across the shop floor, the table saws hummed, the apprentices laughed over the crackle of a radio, and outside, the magnificent Chicago skyline stretched toward the clouds.
May you like
Seven years of pretending. Twenty-one days of terror.
And a lifetime of truth built on a foundation that would never break.
