Her brows pull together. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”
The question hits harder than it should.
Lonely is a soft word.
Lonely is not what I call the nights where my dreams wake me up with my heart in my throat, sweat on my skin, ghosts in my head.
But I can see from her face that she means it in the simple way. The human way. The way that’s allowed to exist without blood in it.
“It’s quiet,” I say.
She studies me like she wants to argue, then decides not to.
“What do you do?” she asks instead.
“Build,” I say. “Repair cabins. People’s porches. Roofs. Whatever needs fixing.”
“Like… for work?”
“For work,” I confirm.
She lifts a brow. “Do you love your job? Fixing things?”
I chew, swallow. “I like it.”
Nova nods slowly. “That’s good.”
Then she looks at me more seriously. “Evelyn said you help older folks for little or no money.”
I glare toward the living room, like Evelyn might be hiding behind my recliner.
Nova catches it and smiles again, quick and bright. “So, it’s true. That's sweet.”
“It’s not charity,” I mutter. “They’re good people.”
“I didn’t say it was charity,” she replies. “I said it was sweet.”
I take a breath through my nose and go back to my steak.
Nova takes another bite too, then asks softly, “Do you have family here?”
The air changes.
Not because she did anything wrong.
Because that question has teeth.
I keep my expression flat. “No.”
Her fork stops halfway to her mouth. “No?”
“My parents died,” I say, simple, because if I dress it up, I’ll taste it.
Nova’s eyes widen, then soften instantly. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug like it’s nothing, because it’s easier to act like it’s nothing than admit that sometimes I still hear my mother’s laugh in my head and it ruins me for an hour.
“They were in a car accident,” I add, because silence will make her fill in worse things. “Happened while I was deployed.”
