“We can. We choose not to.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “It's more fun this way.”
“Fun for who?”
“Me, mostly.” He pushed off from the doorframe, crossed the room with that fluid grace that still caught me off guard. Movedlike water over stones, like nothing in the world could make him stumble. “Brought lunch. Nate said you'd forget to eat if someone didn't remind you.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Closed it. Tried to remember if I'd eaten breakfast.
“That's what I thought.” Evan set a paper bag on my makeshift workbench. The smell of Martha's café wafted out, rich and warm and making my stomach growl traitorously. “Sit. Eat. Consider it Alpha's orders.”
“You're not the Alpha.”
“I'm the Alpha's son, which means I get to be bossy by association.” He pulled up an overturned bucket, sat on it like it was a throne. “Besides, Dad would kill me if I let you starve to death in your own renovation project.”
I set down the hammer, admitted defeat. The sandwich was turkey and swiss, exactly the way I liked it. Either Nate had told him, or Evan paid more attention than I'd given him credit for.
“So.” Evan's eyes tracked around the room as I ate. Taking in the progress, the new walls, the fresh flooring, the window frames I'd been wrestling with all morning. “You've been busy.”
“Keeps me occupied.”
“Does it work?”
“Most days.” I took another bite, chewed, swallowed. “Your dad's been by a few times. Helping with the heavy lifting.”
“I heard.” Something flickered across Evan's face. Amusement, maybe. “He broke a clipboard yesterday.”
“He what?”
“Snapped it clean in half. During a pack meeting.” Evan's mouth curved into something that was almost a smile. “Someone made a comment about you being out here alone, and he just...” He mimed the motion. “Crack. Luke said he'd never seen him lose control like that over something so small.”
I didn't know what to do with that information. Filed it away in the growing collection of things about Daniel Callahan that I wasn't ready to examine too closely.
“Your dad is...” I started.
“A lot. I know.” Evan's expression softened. “But he's good. Under all the Alpha posturing and the stoic silence and the tendency to express affection through property damage. He's good.”
“I'm starting to figure that out.”
“Good.” Evan picked up a spare piece of wood, examined it with more interest than it deserved. “He needs someone who sees that. Someone who isn't intimidated by all the wolf stuff.”
“Is this the shovel talk? Because I feel like this might be the shovel talk.”
Evan laughed, surprised and genuine. “Not even close. The shovel talk would involve actual shovels. And probably Maren, who's terrifying.”
“I've met Maren.”
“Then you know what I mean.” He set down the wood. “This is more like... the getting-to-know-you talk. The 'you're dating my father and I should probably figure out who you are' talk.”
“Fair enough.” I wiped my hands on my jeans, gave him my full attention. “What do you want to know?”
Evan considered me for a moment. “What's your favorite thing about this house?”
The question caught me off guard. “What?”
“The house. You've been working on it for weeks. Pouring hours into it. There has to be something you love about it.”
I looked around the room. At the walls I'd rebuilt with my own hands, the floors I'd laid board by board, the windows that were finally starting to look like windows instead of disaster zones.
“The bones,” I said finally. “The original structure. Whoever built this place knew what they were doing. The framing is solid, the foundation is perfect. Everything else can be fixed, but you can't fix bad bones.”
