Page 57 of Gracie Harris Is Under Construction

Last night, after a family movie and before Josh went back to his place, we told the kids a bit more about how we plan to ease into our new life in the coming months.

When we get back home, I’ll officially leave my job at the tourism magazine and work as a writer full-time.

In addition to writing the newsletter and editing the book, I’ve started kicking around ideas for a few novels.

It’s all still in the brainstorming stage, but it’s exciting.

I’ve got more than enough savings and anticipated book royalties to give us a few years to see how this new career path goes.

Josh has his own plan, too. After speaking with Tommy and the rest of the company leadership team, he’s going to focus on spinning off a new line of business restoring old homes, one at a time.

He won’t do that alone, either; a few guys are coming over to help out with that.

Tommy will run the primary business, and over time, the hope is that Josh will give him part ownership of the company.

The kids are thrilled that I won’t need to regularly travel for work anymore.

Even those short day or overnight trips in North Carolina stressed them out.

We’re all thrilled that I’ll have more flexibility in my days and maybe even some actual free time.

Josh and I are both excited to own our schedules a bit more, which will make splitting time between Canopy and Chapel Hill a little easier.

We all still have lots of questions about how to make this work but are committed to figuring it out as a team.

I walk outside and call Felicity. We’ve been through so much together this past year, and she’s the first person I want to share the good news with.

“I’m done,” I tell her. “The manuscript will be in your inbox by noon.”

“Gracie, you can’t see me right now, but I’m literally doing a happy dance.

My calendar is cleared, and I’m spending the next three days reading your magnificent memoir,” she says, before adding, “which I will, of course, be redlining and sending back to you for one round of edits before we send it to Jeannie.”

“I would expect nothing less,” I tell her. “I truly cannot thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me over this last year. This book would not be possible without you.”

We chat a bit more—including her telling me about her latest date—but then she instructs me to hang up the phone and hit Send on the email right away before she goes crazy.

When I walk back into the house, Josh and Benji are washing their hands in the sink.

“Hey, boys,” I say. “How does the shed look?”

“It was a lot of work, but it’s done and looks good,” Benji says in his sweet voice that somehow has just a trace of a little kid left in it. After Benji runs upstairs, I turn to Josh, and he pulls me in for a generous hug.

“My project is done, too,” I say.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, kissing my forehead. “You worked so hard this summer. I can’t believe you had time to fall in love with me, too.”

“I’m good at multitasking,” I say.

“We should do something to celebrate,” he says. “What about lunch at Lenny’s?”

“Can I read you the last chapter before we go?” I ask, and his eyes immediately light up.

“You sure it’s okay for me to hear the end before I read the whole thing?”

“I’m sure.”

I’ve had the last chapter drafted for quite some time.

The book doesn’t have many flashbacks, but the final chapter tells the story of the day I met Ben.

It’s one thing that I will fight the publisher to never change—to end on the beautiful story of how my life was set on this devastating and magical course.

I read most of it to Josh and he listens intently, both of us perched on our stools at the kitchen island. When I stop for a few seconds after a paragraph that could easily be the end, he starts to talk, and I interrupt: “Not yet.”

For a little while now, I’ve felt that the ending was missing something.

Not closure, per se, but an indication that the new journey I’m on is one worthy of its own story.

Maybe it’s all of the fiction books that I read, but I’ve always wanted the story to have a mostly happy ending, even when I wasn’t sure it was possible.

“For this last part, I need to put you in position,” I say with a sweet but playful grin.

I guide Josh over to a corner of the living room, and then walk over to stand close to the entry. We are positioned exactly where we were the first time we met. An expression of recognition of this fact washes over Josh almost immediately.

“Ready?” I ask.

He nods and I begin.

“I believe in sparks. Sparks of creativity. Sparks of inspiration. Sparks of love. The first time I met Ben, the spark was there. Sometimes our bodies know things before our brains can fully process what’s happening. That was how it all started with Ben. I just knew.

“When he died, I prepared myself for the possibility that sparks might never come for me again. Don’t be greedy , I thought.

You got magic once and it was magnificent .

In the worst of it, I hit a point where I thought all of the new sparks of life might be gone.

That maybe I needed to switch my mindset to gratitude for where I’ve been instead of hopefulness for what might come. ”

I pause. “But then? Sparks. Lots of them.”

I look over at Josh and he’s rubbing his chin, smiling big, and quietly walking closer and closer to me. My dashing but underpaid handyman made it into the book, after all.

“The spark of love was subtle this time, as if my body knew that my brain might run away if it sent the message too hard or too quick. It was there on day one, but it whispered to me softly.”

I put the printed pages down and let Josh scoop me into a warm embrace. I recite the final few sentences from memory into his ear.

“If you’re reading this book and wondering if you’ll ever feel sparks again, know that it’s possible. Because sparks are flying for me right now, and they are magnificent.”