“You raised me honest.” Nate picked up a drill, tested its weight. “So. What needs doing?”
I pointed toward the far wall where new shelving units waited to be installed. “Those need to go up. And before you ask, yes, I already checked for studs.”
“Did you?” Evan's tone suggested doubt.
“I've been doing this for thirty years.”
“And yet,” Evan gestured vaguely at everything.
Rafe made a sound that might have been a laugh, quickly smothered.
“You think this is funny?” I asked him.
“No, sir. I just—“ He ducked his head. “Evan said you were good at this.”
“Evan lied.”
“Evan was being diplomatic,” Evan corrected. He handed Rafe a level. “Here. Let's show Michael how it's really done.”
What followed was possibly the most humbling hour of my life.
Nate grabbed the first shelf unit like it weighed nothing, held it against the wall one-handed while Evan marked placement points. Rafe climbed a ladder I definitely remembered being heavier, moved it around the room like it was made of cardboard. Even their coordination was supernatural—passing tools without asking, anticipating each other's movements, working with a synchronization that made my careful measurements look clumsy.
“You're all showing off,” I said, watching Nate hang another shelf without bothering to check if it was level first. It was, of course. Perfectly.
Rafe smiled at that, quick and genuine before he caught himself and went serious again.
“See, even the new guy thinks it's funny,” I muttered.
“I'm not—“ Rafe started, then stopped. “I mean, I'm not laughing at you.”
“Michael,” I corrected his unspoken 'sir'. “And yes you are. It's fine. I'm old and slow and apparently terrible at basic construction. My back already hurts just watching you people move furniture around.”
“You're not old,” Nate said.
“I'm forty-six. In wolf years, that probably makes me ancient.”
“In wolf years, you'd be about six,” Evan said. “We age differently.”
“That's worse. I'm being shown up by six-year-olds.”
Nate laughed outright at that. Rafe's smile crept back, less hesitant this time.
“Hand me that drill?” Nate asked. I tossed it to him. He caught it without looking, still holding the shelf steady with his other hand. “Thanks.”
“Show-off.”
“Genetically predisposed to excellence,” Nate said. “Can't help it.”
I grabbed another shelf unit, tried to lift it the way Nate had. It was heavy. Properly heavy. I got it about waist-high before my lower back made its opinion known.
“Damn it.” I grunted, setting it back down. “How much does this thing weigh?”
“About eighty pounds,” Evan said.
“And you just picked it up one-handed.”
“Wolf strength.” Evan shrugged. “It's useful.”
