Deacon had made huge changes since the colonel’s cannon had gone off on New Year’s Day and he and Macy had won their cooking contest. He’d reduced his start-up investing by seventy-five percent, and now he was a full-time Charleston resident and CEO of The Sustainability Project, his new nonprofit business.
It was April. And he and Macy were marrying in late May.
“What’s The Sustainability Project?” the visitor asked him at the front door of his office, a newly constructed building on Charleston’s underutilized East Side.
“It’s a nonprofit that works on making our housing greener,” Deacon said. “Both new construction and old.”
“So if you’re building a hotel,” the visitor said, “you can hire one of your experts to come in and show you what kind of materials to buy to make it green?”
“Yes. Starting next month. I’m almost done hiring. The grand opening is May first. I hope you can come.”
“I’ll be here. Mind if I bring a cake? Or three?”
“Be my guest.”
“Cool. What else can you tell me?” The visitor was Macy, of course. His favorite. She took a seat in front of Deacon’s desk.
He picked her up and sat down there himself. And then he put her right back on his lap. “A couple great things we’ll do,” he said, “are energy audits and retrofits. So we might take an old house and try to update the insulation, seal cracks around windows, things like that, to use less energy and lower the resident’s monthly bill. And we’ll provide air conditioners for people who can’t afford them.”
“And in the winter,” Macy said, “you’ll work on heat for people who either don’t have it or can’t afford their heating bills.”
“Right.”
Macy smiled. “I met an Uber driver right before Christmas who told me his mother’s heating bill was sky-high, and she couldn’t afford it. She lives in an older house.”
“That guy works for me now. He’s in training.”
Macy kissed Deacon full on the mouth. “I know,” she said, “and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Deacon felt suddenly serious. “When you start asking the universe questions, it answers, you know?”
She nodded. “I know.”
They smiled at each other. And then she stood up from his lap. He hated to see her go. But she’d brought lunch for the two of them since he was the only one working that day, and she hated for him to eat lunch alone.
“Whatcha got?” he asked.
“Pimento cheese on toasted bagels.” She held up a tub of orange cheese and a paper bag of bagels. “We have to toast them here. Otherwise, this award-winning sandwich is no good.”
“Sounds fantastic. What else?”
“I brought the losing dessert in an auspicious contest that drew a crowd of at least seventeen fans of Freddie and Frannie, Charleston’s newest ‘it’ couple.”
“I thought we were Charleston’s newest ‘it’ couple.”
“Honey, we’re ordinary, remember?”
“And we like it that way,” he said. “So where’s this dessert? Because I kind of like it.”
“Right here.” Macy pulled out a plastic wrap–covered plate with two pale white wedges on it. “New York cheesecake on a Carolina Gold rice crust. It should have won the cooking contest, actually.”
“I think so too.”
“Why didn’t it?”
“Because Freddie and Frannie were making out on the piazza,” he reminded her. “And they missed the vote.”
“Their loss,” Macy said with an adorable shrug.
He pulled her close. “You’re my one and only. Forever.”
“You’re mine too, sweetie.”
“I love when you talk Southern to me. Can we christen this place?”
“We already have,” she reminded him.
“I mean, again?”
“I’m all for it.”
Deacon locked the front door, returned, and picked Macy up. They heard a rusty meow from a tote bag sitting on his desk.
“You hold down the fort, Oscar,” Deacon told him.
“We’ll be back soon,” added Macy. She kissed Deacon on the cheek.
“I love you,” he said, and carried her down a hall that still smelled of fresh paint.
Her legs bounced in time with his gait. “I love you too.”
“I couldn’t be any happier.” His voice was rough with emotion.
“Me either.” She clung hard to his neck. “I made you a coconut cake.”
“I’m happier,” he said.
The sound of their laughter made Oscar open one eye. But he shut it right back and returned to his nap.