"We could," he agrees as she pulls him further into the room, picturing it all easily. "There was a four-poster in here before, and...a vanity just there, by the windows." He huffs a laugh through his nose, leaning his head a bit to one side. "That is, until I sold it after a pipe burst up on the third floor. It was Mackmurdo, so I knew I'd get more than enough to cover the repairs and pay the water bill."
He looks around the room, already sketching out possibilities in his head. They couldn't find exactly the same styles and eras, exactly the right furniture makers; even the Darrow contemporaries would cost more than either he or Alex could afford, unless they found supremely undervalued pieces and took advantage. He's not sure if he could do it, remembering his own experiences early on, in those lean years back home. The thought of being on the other side now turns his stomach more than a little.
Alex keeps talking, hesitant and careful, and it's enough to cease his thoughts and nascent plans almost entirely. She's right, everything she says is right; Black Elm was his home, his heart, the thing he'd fought hardest to keep. At times, it felt like the only anchor he had when everything else was on the verge of swallowing him up. The thought of changing anything sits heavy and unpleasant within him. But he'd always had it, this place that had been unquestioningly his from his very first memory--and despite his discomfort, he knows it's past time to share that with someone else who'd never had the chance to be so fortunate.
"There's a lot to restore here," he says. "A lot of rooms, a lot of repairs. Hell, even the landscaping needs maintenance. But we can...when you want to make this our home, together, we should make it ours." He looks around the room again, a small smile on his lips. "I want you to feel at home here too."
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He looks around the room, already sketching out possibilities in his head. They couldn't find exactly the same styles and eras, exactly the right furniture makers; even the Darrow contemporaries would cost more than either he or Alex could afford, unless they found supremely undervalued pieces and took advantage. He's not sure if he could do it, remembering his own experiences early on, in those lean years back home. The thought of being on the other side now turns his stomach more than a little.
Alex keeps talking, hesitant and careful, and it's enough to cease his thoughts and nascent plans almost entirely. She's right, everything she says is right; Black Elm was his home, his heart, the thing he'd fought hardest to keep. At times, it felt like the only anchor he had when everything else was on the verge of swallowing him up. The thought of changing anything sits heavy and unpleasant within him. But he'd always had it, this place that had been unquestioningly his from his very first memory--and despite his discomfort, he knows it's past time to share that with someone else who'd never had the chance to be so fortunate.
"There's a lot to restore here," he says. "A lot of rooms, a lot of repairs. Hell, even the landscaping needs maintenance. But we can...when you want to make this our home, together, we should make it ours." He looks around the room again, a small smile on his lips. "I want you to feel at home here too."