The house in the hills was a sprawling structure of glass and cedar that seemed to grow naturally out of the landscape. It felt different from our home in Carmel, where the ocean air defined every moment. Here, the scent was pine and dry earth, a reminder that we were deep in the heart of California. As the moving boxes were unpacked, the space began to feel less like a temporary rental and more like a bridge between the life we had cultivated and the work I was about to undertake.
Elara was already exploring the perimeter, her laughter echoing against the canyon walls as she followed the flight of a hawk. Julian was in the kitchen, organizing the pantry with a focused efficiency that made me smile. He did not need to be here. He had a team of people who could have set up this entire house in a matter of hours, but he insisted on doing it himself. He wanted this to be our home, not a hotel suite that happened to have a kitchen.
