I still don’t know what happened. After the barn, after wanting to kiss him, for him to kiss me, he seemed to just … shut down. And now, instead of letting my mind be flooded with thoughts of him, I drown myself in renovations.
At least I have lights now and the electrics are sorted, meaning I can make myself a cup of tea without worrying about sparks flying. The windows are the current project, and I watch as the man fitting them moves swiftly, his tools clicking against the glass as he seals each pane into place.
But there’s still so much left to do.
The gaping hole in the floor and crumbling floorboards need fixing, and don’t get me started on the roof. I’ll need someone to sort the missing tiles before the weather turns bad. As for plastering and painting, I’m going tohave to attempt that myself. I’ve spent hours watching YouTube tutorials, convincing myself I can manage an okay job. Maybe. Hopefully.
The door creaks open, and Missy strides in, both hands full, one carrying her drink, the other holding mine. Matcha tea latte with peppermint syrup. My favourite.
I sigh in contentment as she hands it over, sinking onto the ground beside me.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
She grins, “I know.”
She looks down at the papers scattered between us, and picks up a few, flipping through them.
“Wow.” She pauses, taking in the sketches and notes. “This is amazing Stormy. I love everything about it.”
I smile, glancing down at the layout. Shelves lining every wall, cosy seating areas tucked between them, warm lighting to make it feel inviting, even one of those adorable bells that rings when a customer walks through the door. A bookshop built for staying and escaping.
Missy nudges my arm.
“This is going to be incredible.”
I let out a quiet breath, nodding.
“I hope so.”
She’s still studying the pages when her expression shifts and dims.
“I still can’t believe what my brother said to you.” Her voice is low, threaded with something heavier than frustration. “I told him it wasn’t okay.” Her brows draw together, not in fury but in thought. “He’s always been a bit gruff, sure, but I’ve never seen him like … that. I don’t understand it. It’s not like him.”
I shrug, forcing the thoughts away before they settle.
“It doesn’t matter.”
But it does. It matters more than I want to admit. I thought we were becoming friends. That things were shifting, that maybe I wasn’t so alone anymore. And then, just like that, he flipped. Okay, yeah, maybe things almost went a teensy bit past the friends’ line, but still … I thought we were at least getting along.
And the worst part? I was starting to like him.
Not just in a casual, harmless way. No,reallylike him.
The kind of like that crept in slow and quiet, so I didn’t even notice it until it was already under my skin.
The way he made me feel like I mattered, even just a little. The way he handed over the keys to his truck without hesitation. The way he humoured me when I wanted to learn his guitar, sat beside me like he had all the time in the world.
He showed up. He noticed things. Picked me up when I was walking back from the shops, just because he thought I might struggle. Helped me when the rain came pouring down and rode me home without a word of complaint.
Yeah, sometimes he was grumpy about it. But he still did it, for me.
And somewhere in all of that, I started to feel safe in his presence.
But really, those were the kinds of things any decent person would do.
I just didn’t recognise them in men, because life with Sam taught me to accept the bare minimum and call it love.
But not anymore.
