I arch a brow. “You’re staying?”
He shrugs, grabbing the box cutter from the kitchen counter like he lives here. “You’ll strip a screw or lose a bolt without me.”
I laugh. “That’s a bold assumption.”
“It’s not an assumption. It’s experience.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling as we start pulling pieces out of the box. Soon the floor is covered in wooden planks, metal legs, a little baggie of bolts and an instruction manual written by someone who clearly hates humanity.
We work side by side on the floor, knee to knee, passing tools back and forth, occasionally brushing fingers. It’s easy. Familiar.
Will asks, “You liking it in town?”
“Yeah,” I say, quieter now. “I needed space. A place that felt mine.”
He nods, then screws in one of the legs. “You’ve always been good at disappearing when things get hard.”
I stiffen. “Wow. Okay.”
He doesn’t look up. “Didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
Will sighs. “I meant you always run somewhere. Into work. Into taking care of everyone else. Into hiding.”
“That’s rich coming from a man who opens a bar to avoid actual feelings.”
He huffs a laugh and sits back on his heels, watching me.
“You scared me,” he says suddenly.
“What?”
“That night. When Carl got in your face. I didn’t say it then, but it scared the shit out of me.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t know.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. I figured.”
Silence stretches, thick between us.
I murmur, “You’ve always made me feel safe, you know.”
Will’s eyes stay locked on mine, unreadable. But something shifts behind them.
“Then why do I get the feeling you’re trying to run?” he asks softly.
Because I am. Because the things he makes me feel are messy. Unsteady. Dangerous. And because I’m almost positive he doesn’t feel the same way. So I smile. A practiced one. Just enough curve to pass as casual.
“I was never supposed to stay here. Before Dad died, I had big plans on never coming back.”
My throat tightens as I swallow.
“I’ve never really fit in here,” I add, voice quieter now. “So, yeah. I’ll be leaving once I figure out where I belong.”
I say it like it’s logical. Like it doesn’t hurt.
Will leans back slightly, arms resting on his knees, like he’s absorbing it.
