She turns, hand on the doorknob. “Cole, I appreciate your help. But I can take it from here.”
I should find a ride. But I don’t want to. “The porch step is loose. I can fix it.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.”
She studies my face. Then she nods once and unlocks the door.
Inside, the house is cold but not freezing. The old radiator ticks and clangs, warming slowly. Everything is organized. Books alphabetized. Mugs lined up by size. Even the throw pillows are symmetrical.
My throat clogs. This is so her.
The kitchen sink drips. I motion to it. “Let me fix that, too.”
Without waiting for an answer, I grab my toolbox from her car and get to work.
Twenty minutes, done. The porch step takes longer. Rotted board and loose nails. I replace both and test the weight twice.
When I come back inside, Holly is in the kitchen making tea.
“All set,” I say. “Step’s solid. The sink won’t drip anymore.”
“Thank you.”
“Here are your keys.” As I hand them back, I see the yellow smiley face keychain. I should leave. But my feet won’t move. “Holly?—”
“I need to check in with Sophie about the volunteer schedule. There’s a senior center event I need to prep for.”
“Right. Okay.”
She looks up at me then. Her eyes are red. “Cole…”
My phone buzzes. I pull it out. Habit.
Jesse:Heard you had company during the storm. You good?
Holly sees me check it. Her face closes. “You must be needed elsewhere.”
“That’s not?—”
“Thanks again.” The dismissal is final this time.
I leave.
I head to Roz’s for a ride home. The diner is packed with the lunch rush and locals catching up after the storm. Jesse sits in a corner booth.
I slide across from him. “I need a ride home.”
“Your guest leave already?”
“Holly Brooks. She got stuck.”
“I heard. Sophie posted about it in the group chat. You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
