His gaze snaps to mine. The air between us tightens, full of all the things we never say out loud.
Like how he thinks I'm not ready for this after staying away so long.
And how he'll never believe this mountain means as much to me as it does to him.
I exhale. “We keep the look, the feel, the story. We fix the bones. Preservation doesn’t mean letting the building rot so everyone can admire the corpse.”
“And what else do you plan on ‘fixing’ while you’re at it?” he asks, already suspicious. “You’ve been eyeing this room since you got back.”
He’s not wrong.
But I am so goddamn tired of having every idea treated like a grenade.
“We stick to this repair for now,” I say. “We’ll talk about the rest later.”
“We will,” he says. It’s not a promise. It’s a warning.
He pats the top of the frame like he’s comforting an old dog I just suggested putting down, then turns and walks off toward the office without another word. Like he still owns the place. Like he still has the final say.
My molars ache from how hard I’m clenching them to keep every fucking thing I want to say locked behind my goddamned teeth.
“Could’ve gone worse,” John offers.
“How?” I ask.
“He coulda yelled.”
“He was yelling.”
“Nah.” John tugs his screwdriver free. “That was his indoor disappointment voice. Whole different animal.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Great. Love that for me.”
He slides a pry bar under the first strip of trim. “Should I start pulling this while you’re not watching? Spare your delicate feelings?”
“I’ll live.” I step back to give him room. “Just take it slow until I get the snowmen moved out of there.”
He nods. “Ayuh.”
I’m halfway to the coffee urn to refuel when the front door opens and cold air knifes through the foyer lobby.
My body reacts before my brain catches up. Spine straight. Jaw tight. I don’t even need to see her to know. Her timing… absolutely impeccable.
Our tentative truce, or whatever the hell we’d arrived at last night quakes the minute she steps into thedining room and skids to a stop when she sees John working on the window.
When she sees the missing trim.
And the hairline crack in the wall above the seat.
Her face drains, then floods with color so fast it’s like watching a time-lapse storm.
“What did you do?” she breathes.
John does the smart thing and evaporates under the guise of needing to get more equipment, effectively escaping and throwing me under the bus in one shot.
Traitor.
“You’re looking chipper after your nap.”
