The air between us goes electric. Charged with years of wanting and yesterday’s revelations, and tomorrow’s inevitable confrontation.
“Cal—”
Footsteps on the stairs make us both freeze. Jace appears in the doorway, takes in the scene—Cal and me kneeling beside the assembled bed frame, the careful distance between us, the tension crackling in the air.
“Bunk bed’s done,” he announces, his steel-blue eyes moving from me to Cal and back again. “Silas is installing the safety rail now.” His gaze sharpens on my crop tank, and something flashes across his face before he controls it. “You need help with anything else?”
“I think we’ve got it,” Cal says, standing smoothly. “Parker’s very capable. Even if she does need assistance with ceiling appreciation.”
I roll my eyes, grateful for the levity even as my heart pounds. “The ceiling is fine.”
“The ceiling is excellent,” Cal corrects, offering me a hand up.
I take it, and he pulls me to my feet with that easy strength, his fingers lingering just a moment too long before he releases me.
“We should probably—” Jace starts, but a crash from upstairs followed by Silas’s creative cursing cuts him off.
“Sounds like the safety rail is going well,” Cal observes dryly.
“I’ll go help.” Jace gives me one last unreadable look. Then he’s gone, and Cal and I are alone again in the warm afternoon light.
“I should let you finish unpacking,” he says, backing toward the door. “Before I completely lose my ability to focus on ceiling architecture.”
“Cal.”
He pauses at the threshold. “Yeah, angel?”
“Thanks, again.”
His smile is soft. Genuine. Tinged with something that looks like hope. “Anytime. We’re right next door if you need us. Fifty yards away.”
“How do you feel about that? Being my neighbor?”
“Well, we do live by a very strict set of covenants in this community, so I’ll expect you to adhere to them like the good girl you are.”
“When have I ever followed your rules, Cal?”
Wh—why did I say that?
I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my face in my hands as he laughs.
“Careful, angel,” he finally says, and I lower my hands with a breath just as he’s walking away, “brattiness will only be tolerated for so long.” He winks and then disappears into the hallway, leaving me alone with my assembled bed frame and the crushing weight of secrets I’m running out of time to keep.
Through the window, I can see their guest house. Fifty yards away. Close enough that I could call out and they’d hear me. Far enough to feel like an ocean.
I return to unpacking, but my hands shake slightly as I pull linens from boxes and make the massive bed.
Brattiness, he said.
Well, I guess I’ll have to borrow a cup of sugar from somewhere.
20
SILAS
The cigarette tastes like ash and regret, but I light it anyway because my hands need something to do that isn’t putting holes through drywall.
The porch of our guest house faces away from Parker’s, a mercy, since I’ve spent the last three hours assembling furniture for children who might be mine and pretending my entire world isn’t fracturing with every breath.
