Page 5 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

TWO

Jules’s brush danced across the canvas, trying to perfectly capture the way morning light filtered through the old tree outside their window. They’d been working since shortly after waking up, lost in the rhythm of creation, when their mom’s voice cut through their concentration.

“Jules!” The call from downstairs was sharp and cheerful in a way that always meant business. The screen door slapped against the frame as it closed behind her. “Can you come outside for a sec?”

Their hand froze mid-stroke, hovering just above the canvas. They’d been so absorbed in their work that they’d lost track of time.

“Coming!” they called back, setting down the brush with reluctance. The half-finished painting would have to wait—something in their mom’s tone suggested this wasn’t going to be a quick check-in.

Around them, paint-splattered canvases leaned against every wall like silent companions, some half-finished, others barely begun.

Brushes stood in mason jars, their bristles stiff with remnants of dried acrylics in colors that didn’t exist in nature.

Sketchbooks with dog-eared pages spilled across the dresser, while tubes of paint and charcoal sticks claimed territory on every flat surface.

The room breathed creativity—chaotic, unfiltered, alive.

A thrift shop aesthetic collided with an artist’s studio, creating a space that was uniquely, unapologetically Jules. They wouldn’t have it any other way.

Since moving back to Maple Hill, they’d had the freedom to explore their art, and since last year’s mural project, they’d had a few people commission custom projects.

It wasn’t enough to quit their job at Brew & Barrel, but it was something.

As much as they hated to admit it, they’d be struggling to make ends meet if their parents hadn’t been cool with them moving back into their childhood bedroom following a year spent picking up odd jobs while traveling the country.

Jules stared out the window, watching their mom gather eggs from the coop while their dad worked on one of the fences. There was a serenity on the farm that was hard to describe, a kind of peacefulness that seeped into their bones and made everything feel just a little bit lighter.

This was home—messy, alive, theirs.

But lately, something in the air felt…off.

Like the restlessness that usually fueled their creativity had shifted into something heavier, something that pressed in when they paused too long.

Change was circling, and Jules could feel it like the low rumble of a distant storm.

Not knowing where the vibes were coming from unsettled Jules.

They weren’t a fan of the unknown, and the idea of it crept into their thoughts like a shadow on a sunny day.

Their parents had abandoned their morning chores and were now standing at the edge of the porch as Jules approached.

Their faces held something beyond the usual morning greeting—anticipation?

Nerves? The sight made Jules’s stomach twist with unease.

Their dad nodded toward one of the nearby chairs as he slipped a hand onto his wife’s back.

The two of them were definitely nervous about something, which made Jules’s anxiety ratchet up a notch.

“Morning,” their dad said, brushing dirt from his hands. The earthy smell clung to him, a reminder of all the times Jules had followed him around the farm, mimicking his every move. “We’ve got news to share with you.”

Jules blinked, suddenly aware of how vulnerable they felt in yesterday’s oversized sweatshirt.

“Okay…” Their dad’s stilted tone had Jules on edge.

They braced themselves for the worst as they studied both of their parents, fear welling in their stomach that one of them was terminally ill or something.

“We’ve decided to sell the farm.” Their mom’s voice was soft, yet the words felt like a sudden gust of wind, threatening to knock Jules off-balance. She shifted from one foot to the other, unable to make eye contact.

The words landed like a dropped canvas—quiet, but still jarring. Jules felt their heart stutter, their breath catching in their throat. “What? You’re serious?”

Tears welled in their eyes as they stared at the landscape beyond the porch.

In their enclosures, the goats and chickens went about their day, oblivious to the fact that their caretakers were abandoning them.

In that moment, Jules felt an odd kinship with the animals.

They couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t fathom the thought of not being able to walk the trails their dad kept mowed around the property after a rough day.

They’d known better than to take for granted that the home they’d always known would be waiting for them might not be someday. Jules knew they should feel relieved that it wasn’t as bad as they’d originally feared, but it was still a punch in the gut.

“We are,” their dad said. “We’re heading south. Maybe somewhere with fewer blizzards and a little more sand. Last winter was really rough on your mom, and her doctors said she might struggle less in a more temperate climate.”

Jules’s mouth gaped, then closed, the words they wanted to say tangled in a mess of emotions. They nodded slowly, like that might help the idea settle in their brain. “Wow. Okay. That’s…big.” Their voice felt small, lost in the vastness of the change looming over them.

They weren’t sure what else to say. It was selfish to ask what this meant for Jules when they knew how hard the winters had become for their mom as she got older.

She’d always suffered from fibromyalgia, but over the past few years, she’d begun struggling with day-to-day living.

Even now, as the weather got warmer, they could tell she was constantly battling fatigue and aching joints, which was why Jules tried waking up early most mornings to handle the chores so their mom wouldn’t have to.

Jules ignored the little voice in their head scolding them for sleeping in. If they didn’t work the closing shift, maybe they could wake up every morning, and then their parents wouldn’t feel like they had to move.

“We’d love for you to come with us,” their mom added, like that might soften the blow. “You could set up your studio there, start fresh.”

But fresh didn’t sound like freedom. It sounded like starting over with training wheels still on. And as much as their mom would thrive in the warmer climate, it sounded like hell to Jules.

“Yes,” their dad agreed, placing what Jules figured was supposed to be a comforting hand on their shoulder.

The touch felt heavy, unwelcome. “We know this is a shock to you, but I can’t watch her in pain from the moment she wakes up until she goes to sleep.

If we move now, we can find a more manageable place where she can still have her garden and some chickens. ”

Jules resisted the urge to shake off their dad’s hand.

They didn’t want to be comforted right now, especially not by the person they knew was behind this decision.

No way in the world would their mom have suggested moving away from Maple Hill.

This land had been in her family for three generations.

Jules had foolishly dreamed that it would be theirs one day.

Jules forced a smile, the muscles in their face aching with the effort.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about moving into town anyway.

As much as I appreciate you letting me live here as long as I wanted, it’s time for me to step out on my own.

No one else my age still lives with their parents.

I’ve been looking around and have a couple of good leads. ”

A bold-faced lie, but one they committed to on the spot. Staying felt impossible. Leaving with their parents? Even more so. They needed space—room to figure things out without the quiet pressure of being someone else’s idea of settled.

“We’ll miss you, but that’s great to hear, honey.

” Their mom seemed disappointed that Jules wasn’t eager to trail along to wherever they wound up.

But this was for the best. They’d done an amazing job raising Jules, and they deserved the rest. “If you change your mind, you’ll always have a home with us, no matter where we wind up. ”

She crossed the porch, opening her arms. Jules stood, stepping into her embrace. They closed their eyes and inhaled, hugging her just a little longer than they normally would.

Jules stayed on the porch long after their parents had retreated inside, lost to the swirl of thoughts and emotions this morning’s bombshell had stirred up.

The farm, with its familiar sounds and smells, seemed to pulse with memories of every childhood adventure, every quiet moment spent sketching under the old oak tree, every thread of life woven into the fabric of who they were.

They wanted to soak in as many memories as possible before being unceremoniously kicked out of the proverbial nest.

But what now? The idea of leaving Maple Hill felt like cutting away a piece of themselves.

The thought of following their parents to some far-off, sun-soaked place was equally unsettling.

A place where they’d have to start from scratch, where they couldn’t just slip into Shelf Care Central to talk with their friend Ollie about the latest fantasy reads, where the community didn’t know their name or their art.

At almost thirty, they finally felt like they were growing roots here, and they didn’t want to be ripped out of the ground like a sapling in a tornado.