Page 39 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

When Josh’s place emerges after a quarter mile of wooded driveway, I’m in awe.

His modern A-frame house looks ripped from the pages of Dwell .

The house has gorgeous wood siding framing huge glass windows.

A dark metal roof goes from the peak of the house to the ground.

It’s more modern than anything else I’ve seen in Canopy.

Josh told me about it, but it was hard to believe such a laid-back guy could have such stylish taste in architecture.

I park my SUV next to his truck and grab my overnight bag from the passenger seat.

As I walk toward the front porch, I admire the craftsmanship of the home’s exterior.

Before opening the door, I turn around. The view is amazing.

The entire drive was on a slight elevation but never dramatic enough for me to realize just how far I’d climbed.

From his front door, you see only trees and mountains in the distance.

In an hour at dusk, the view from inside the house, out those great big windows, will be exquisite.

Following his instructions, I open the door without knocking. The entire first floor looks to be open space, and he’s straight ahead in the kitchen. He looks up and immediately walks toward me with that beaming smile of his.

“It smells amazing in here,” I say, greeting him with a kiss.

Every time we look at each other after a kiss or make-out session, one or both of us has a look of disbelief on our face. It’s silly, but I think we’re still in a little shock that this is all really happening. It is strange at any age to have a crush on someone that actually pans out.

“I don’t have an extensive repertoire in the kitchen, but the ten or so things I know how to cook I’m really good at,” he says. “Tonight, I’m making chicken Parm.”

“Hopefully you’re okay making the same ten things over and over because I am a terrible cook,” I admit, finally breaking away from him so he can keep making dinner.

I’ve known Josh for six weeks, and this romance has been sizzling for two—and this is the first time I’ve been to his house. The Craftsman is convenient and easy, so despite my curiosity, this is the first day we’ve gotten serious about me coming here and spending the night.

“Can I explore?” I ask, wanting to be respectful of his space even though he knows every imperfect corner of mine.

“Of course. There is a guest bedroom hidden behind us. The stairs take you to a loft, and my bedroom is up there behind it. I’ll just be here in the kitchen making you a delicious dinner.”

I sneak in for another kiss before heading through a short hallway to the guest bedroom.

It’s surprisingly large, with a queen bed and a big area rug covering the floor.

There’s a spacious walk-in closet and bathroom in here, too.

I suspect this is supposed to be the primary bedroom but that Josh has decided to sleep up in the trees in the loft area.

The walls of this room are covered in art prints from different national parks and forests in the western part of the state. I love it.

In short order, I’m climbing the stairs.

There’s a small leather sofa facing a huge flat-screen TV at the top of the landing—this is a bachelor pad, after all.

Down another short hallway is Josh’s room.

My guess was right; this room is smaller than the one downstairs.

It’s also cozier, with high-quality linen sheets that look suspiciously like the ones I have on the bed in the Craftsman.

The bed itself is a stunning carved wood in a deep-walnut stain.

Josh hasn’t mentioned building furniture, but it would not surprise me if he made this bed for himself.

Over the bed is a beautiful black-and-white photo of a mountain waterfall.

I drop my small bag at the foot of the bed and head downstairs.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” Josh asks.

“This house is so you . It’s like I can feel you in every room and hallway—I guess that makes sense because you literally built it exactly how you wanted it, but it’s still pretty cool.”

“So no scary surprises lurking that make you second-guess this romantic situation?”

“You are not a red-flag sort of guy, Josh. This house, in fact, only makes me like you more because it’s the exact sort of tucked-away paradise I initially thought I wanted in Canopy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I tried to convince Ben that we needed a rural spot. Downtown reminded me too much of home. We even saw a place just down the road from here. The Craftsman was a compromise at the time—much more of a Ben type of location. Now, of course, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

It would be lonely for me to be tucked away by myself up here.

I like my quiet time, but I’d be a ball of anxiety on a few acres all alone. ”

“I can’t imagine anyone else in the Wilson Street house besides you, so I think the compromise worked out well. He knew what he was doing.”

This is one thing I love about Josh. From the beginning—when we were just strangers asking each other questions—he’s been comfortable with me talking openly about Ben. There isn’t a hint of jealousy or weirdness.

Suddenly, there is a brief knock at the door followed by it rapidly opening. Two seventysomethings burst in while chatting loudly to one another.

“Josh! We were driving home from Clemson and had to make a stop here to use the bathroom. The old prostate isn’t what it used to be,” says the man, before looking up and realizing that Josh isn’t alone.

The expression on Josh’s face is mostly amused but also a little embarrassed. His comfort at the unexpected guests makes me quickly realize these are his parents .

“Oh my goodness…the other car in the driveway…we’re intruding!” says his mom, walking up toward us. “We should’ve called first, but you’re usually home alone on weeknights, sweetie.”

I have two kids and irritable bowel syndrome, so there is quite literally nothing people can say to me about their bodily functions to gross me out. My instinct is to make his parents feel comfortable in this awkward moment.

“Mom, Dad, this is Gracie,” Josh says, recovering quickly. “Gracie, these are my parents, Jim and Suzanne.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I say, giving his mother a quick hug since she is nearby. Josh gives his dad a hug and whispers in his ear something about taking care of his business. We’re all laughing, even though Suzanne and I don’t hear the full extent of things.

“I’m sorry we barged in. We’ll be out of your hair in no time,” Suzanne says.

By this point, Josh has taken the chicken out of the oven, and there is enough to feed a small army.

He told me once that he makes food in bulk, freezes it, and then eats the same meal every night until it runs out.

It’s how he survived his busy workload over the last few years.

I make small talk with Suzanne for a few minutes, asking about their trip and the traffic they hit on the road.

“There’s plenty of food,” I offer, gesturing toward the baking sheet full of prepared chicken. “You should stay before you get back on the road.”

Jim emerges at this point and heartily agrees. “Is it chicken Parm night? That sounds perfect.”

Suzanne and Josh are exchanging the exact same look with each other, and it takes no effort for me to start matching the personality traits of Josh and James to their parents.

I smile and mouth It’s okay to Josh. He lets out a sigh, shakes his head, and then nods to his mom.

She silently goes over to the kitchen cabinets and nimbly grabs out two more plates, napkins, and sets of cutlery from their respective spots and brings them over to the long wood dining table.

—

We’re over an hour into dinner and wine, and Josh’s parents are telling me lots of stories about him.

Josh wants to pretend like he’s embarrassed, but I know he’s not.

His parents are just like he described—so full of obvious and boundless love for him.

Nothing is said in a hurtful or sarcastic tone. It’s all so joyful.

“Did Josh tell you that he almost didn’t go to college?” Jim asks, looking at me.

“We had to insist on it,” Suzanne jumps in. “This guy just wanted to ride mountain bikes for the rest of his life. He wanted to start his own company at eighteen!”

“They told me to go to college, major in business, and learn how to actually do things the right way,” Josh adds. “So I did, and I worked summers as a bike tour guide. By the time I graduated, I understood the practical and business sides of things.”

“And obviously, we were right,” Jim says matter-of-factly. “He started his own company, always operated in the black, and then sold it for high five figures before starting the construction company.”

His dad is so obviously proud of him, and it makes my heart swell.

My parents do the same for me. They used to keep copies of the tourism magazine on their coffee table with my name circled halfway down the masthead.

Now they keep laminated copies of my New York Times essays out instead.

Once the book is released? Their friends are goners.

“They were right,” Josh says in mock annoyance. “It turns out learning how to actually run a business in the classroom keeps you from making stupid mistakes in real life.”

“That’s enough about us and Josh,” Suzanne starts. “Kendell got me hooked on your essays last year, and I know you’ve spent the summer here in Canopy writing. Tell us about your book and how it’s coming along.”

I’ve peppered them with questions and talked very little about myself until now. I know that once you get a parent talking about their children, even adult ones, they won’t stop. I wanted intel on Josh.