“Well, well.”
I look up to find Cal leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, that amber gaze—Noah’s gaze—fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“What?” I ask, returning to my work because looking at him for too long feels dangerous.
“Nothing. Just admiring the view.” His voice carries that teasing lilt that’s pure Cal, but there’s something brittle underneath it. “Parker Carter with power tools. It’s very... competent.”
“I know how to assemble furniture,” I mutter, lining up the next bolt.
“Clearly.” He pushes off the doorframe, moving into the room with that easy confidence that’s slightly forced today. “Though I have to ask—what does a single woman need with an Alaskan King? That’s a lot of bed for one person.”
He’s trying. Trying to be normal, to joke, to pretend we’re not both thinking about yesterday. About amber eyes in a small face. About timelines that add up too perfectly.
Heat creeps up my neck. “The boys?—”
“Ah, yes. The boys.” He crouches beside me, ostensibly to examine the frame, but I can feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing. “Let me guess. They like to sprawl?”
“They’re acrobats in their sleep,” I say, grateful for the excuse to focus on the drill instead of his face. “All elbows and knees. New places make them nervous, so they end up in my bed most nights. This way, there’s room for all of us without anyone getting kicked.”
“Smart.” He picks up the instruction manual, scanning it with that quick intelligence that always made him dangerous. “So they sleep with you? Most nights?”
“Most nights.” I finish tightening the bolt and move to the next corner. “They’re five. It’s normal.”
“I wasn’t criticizing.” His voice goes softer, and when I glance at him, his expression is unguarded. Vulnerable. “Just trying to understand. Trying to picture it. You and them. What your life has been like.”
Without us, hangs unspoken in the air.
“We managed,” I say quietly.
“I don’t doubt it.” He reaches out, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s going to touch me. But his hand goes to the frame instead, steadying it while I work. “You’ve always been capable. Stubborn as hell, but capable.”
“Had to be.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and I feel him go very still beside me.
“Parker—”
“Can you hand me that Phillips head bit?” I interrupt, gesturing toward the drill bit set scattered across the floor. “The one with the magnetic tip.”
He does, but his fingers brush mine in the transfer, and the contact sends electricity racing up my arm. Our eyes meet, and I see everything he’s holding back. Every question. Every fear. Every hope.
“The other day,” he says quietly, “When you said the boys were five. Born in October?—”
“Cal, please.” My voice cracks. “You promised.”
“The funeral was yesterday.”
“And today is moving day.” I set down the drill and reach for the hem of my sweatshirt—it’s gotten too warm in here, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows making the room feel like a sauna. I pull it over my head without thinking, leaving me in just my yoga pants and a black crop tank that shows a strip of my stomach.
When I look back at Cal, his mouth has gone dry.
“Parker—”
“Can you hold these two pieces together?” I ask, all business, pointing to the headboard sections that need to be joined. “I need both hands to get the bolt started.”
“I—yeah. Yes.” He moves into position, his hands gripping the wood, and I notice the way his knuckles go white. The way he’s very carefully not looking at me.
I fit the drill bit into place, line up the bolt, and start the motor. The whir of the drill fills the silence, giving me something to focus on besides the way Cal’s jaw is clenched, the way his breathing has gone shallow.
