She takes her accumulated ticket money and her loan money and hires contractors to build a proper portal port (it amuses her to say this phrase) on her land into which the portal walls may be moved. (She made them out of relatively portable - ha - material; they should be movable into their new homes when ready without cracking, and if one breaks, Adarin can replace it.) The estimated date of the portal port's completion is in very late October, and that's because it's a rush job she's paying exorbitantly for. She expects to want to replace it with a more congenially located and prettily architected building in two or three years, not to mention better solutions than repurposed parking garages on the far ends, but an adequate port now will be better than an ideal one in a year. It has asphalt for cars to drive on and plenty of dangling signs and paint on the ground to direct them on the first floor, and ramps up for pedestrians to go from portal to portal (around a circular promenade with spaces for restaurants and suchlike to nest in, if they care to fork over the outrageous rent.) There are slots for two hundred and fifty portals in this structure and room to build another ring around it for an equal number more if she doesn't have the big pretty permanent version up soon.
She buys a garage in Phoenix, hires people to paint over its misleading signage, and Adarin puts a portal in it. She raises her prices but also starts selling week passes for just three times the price of a round trip ticket. She tells the manager-level staffperson to hire more underlings and promote one or two. She could repay her loan, now; she doesn't, in case she needs the slush fund for something.
Between portal-makings, Adarin makes mirrors; Isabella's parents get half-pairs, and there are extras around for people's daemons. Ranata is not clear on what the advantage over telephones is supposed to be. Adarin receives a telephone. Isabella's house becomes home to a nice computer.
She hires security guards and a human resources person and a payroll clerk. She buys a garage in San Antonio and Adarin puts a portal in it.
She turns twenty.
"Of how I love you. There would be lots of hearts. Maybe some flowers, too, it would be very pink and I'd be embarrassed to show it to anyone."
He laughs. "Only as a last resort. How about if I try again, hmm - I love you! There, did that work?"
"What about if I say it now, hmm?" he murmurs. "I love you."
Was that a vague hint at an innuendo? From Adarin? The man must be going crazy. It's the kisses. Or the cake. One of them.
"Ooh probably. Wouldn't want it to go stale in case it takes you a really long time to get through to me."
He gives her a quick kiss, then retrieves plastic wrap for the cake. He's familiar with it by now, they've occasionally kept leftovers. Into the fridge goes the chocolate cake.
Then?
Well, that's entirely predictable. Kisses?
Hopefully it was a good birthday.
"Of course. Hope you have an eternity filled with more. They're fun to celebrate. Though the baking was nerve-wracking."
He laughs. "Maybe, but then where would I get help from nice people at the grocery store that take pity on me?"
"Perhaps you can take up another complicated hobby. You can get advice on knitting from little old ladies in yarn stores."
"I would make you tacky hats. Warm and soft, but tacky, tacky hats. Completely useless to you, since cold is harmless to you."
"Oh dear. That sounds very impractical. Maybe you should take up ceramics instead and make lopsided weird-colored dishes."