Xena''s POV


    "I actually prefer this room," I said, scanning the space with a critical eye. "Having a private bathroom would be convenient."


    Luna Kestrel''s face lit up with excitement as she pped her hands together. "Perfect! I have a team that just finished renovating a house and is ready to start their next project. We could have them begin work here today. We just need to decide on flooring and paint. If you can decide what you want today, I''ll make sure it gets lered. And let me know what kind of desk you''d like."


    I opened my mouth to respond, but my thoughts tangled together. Before I could organize them into something coherent, Ryder jumped in.


    "I was nning to work in Dad''s office today since he has other matters to handle,” he exined to his mother. The relief I felt at his intervention was embarrassing. Why did simple conversations with his family make me so nervous?


    "That works perfectly!" Luna Kestrel nced at her watch. "I''ll let you use myptop so you can select and purchase what you want."


    "Sounds good," Ryder replied with an easy smile that made my stomach flutter.


    We followed her to the office, where Ryder settled into his father''s chair while Luna Kestrel ced herptop on the coffee table.


    "Just add whatever you want to the cart and purchase it," she instructed, heading toward the door.


    "What''s the budget?" I asked, my voice betraying my anxiety. The question slipped out before I could stop it-a reflex from years of watching every penny, of being made to feel like a burden.


    Luna Kestrel paused at the doorway and turned to look at me with a gentle smile that reached her eyes. "Buy whatever you want. I want you to feelfortable here. This is your space to design and create, so do it your way. Do what makes you happy. This is your


    home."


    The look in her eyes caught mepletely off guard. I''d never had a woman look at me with such genuine affection and warmth. My mouth parted slightly as warmth rushed through me, mingled with a strange sense of unreality. When she left the room, I found myself staring at the door for several moments before turning my attention to theputer.


    "Still not used to it?" Ryder''s question pulled me from my thoughts, my heart rate elerating at his direct hit to my feelings.


    "Oh, um..." I nced at him, not really wanting to answer that question. I''d had maybe one real conversation with his mother. Last time we talked, it hadn''t gone well. I picked up theptop and ced it on my knees, focusing on the screen to hide my difort.


    I''d never considered what kind of office design I wanted. I Googled professional office designs and clicked on images. There were so many styles it was hard to choose, each one representing a life I''d never had.


    "What do you want it to look like?" I asked Ryder, hoping his answer might give me some direction.


    "Honestly, I don''t care," Ryder shrugged. I shot him a re before turning back to the images.


    "Just no bright colors," he muttered, almost as an afterthought.


    "So, no bubblegum pink... okay!" I shot back.


    He rolled his eyes but returned to his work.


    One picture caught my attention-a dark te color with a dark-stained wood


    desk. ck ents with touches of cream to lighten


    it up. The rug was predominantly white with gray patterns, and green nts added a weing feel.


    I searched through the paint colors until I found one that matched te picture exactly. Next, I looked for a desk, but nothing had the vibe I wanted.


    Disappointed, I shifted to searching for a rug and found one that was exactly what I had in mind. I opened another tab and visited the antique site I often used to buy cheap furniture for restoration projects. The site had two identical desks with elegant designs and plenty of storage. There were also matching armchairs that needed a lot of work but would look amazing when finished.


    Uncertainty crept in as 1 reviewed my selections. I could visualize the finished space, but I knew not everyone would see it. It takes someone with a creative eye


    to recognize the potential in worn pieces. Still, I believed in my choices.


    "Do you want to see what I''ve picked out?" I asked.


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