“You’re not terrible at it. You’re just honest.” Her voice is soft. “I like that about you.”
“Yeah?” I mount the second bracket and test its stability. “What else do you like?”
“You’re fishing for compliments.”
“Maybe.”
She laughs, a slight sound, but real. “You make me feel less alone. Like I’m not just surviving. Like I’m actually allowed to want things again.”
I set the drill down and turn to face her. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know yet.” But the way she’s looking at me suggests she knows exactly what she wants. “I’m still figuring it out.”
“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
I finish the shelf in another ten minutes. Test it three times to make sure it holds. Put all her books and frames back in place exactly how I think they were before.
“There.” I step back. “That should last you another decade. Maybe longer if Tommy doesn’t use it as a climbing wall.”
“He definitely will.” Rachel stands, inspecting my work. “This looks great. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“I’m serious. You didn’t have to come over. You didn’t have to help me.” She turns to face me. “But you did. And that means something.”
We’re standing so close that I notice the small scar on her chin that I never saw before.
“Rachel—”
“Come downstairs,” she says. “Let me give you those cookies before you leave.”
The kitchen smells even better up close. She’s got a plate of cookies cooling on the counter, and she starts packing some into a container without asking if I want them.
“Jake’s going to wonder why there’s only half a batch left,” I point out.
“Jake can make his own cookies.” She seals the container and hands it to me. “Besides, you earned these. Hazard pay for dealing with my disaster of a shelf.”
“It wasn’t a disaster. Just poorly installed.”
“You’re being generous.” She leans against the counter, arms crossed. “But thank you. For everything.”
I should walk out now, take the cookies, and go home because empty houses and Rachel Morgan are a dangerous combination, but I do the opposite and set the container down.
“Can I ask you something now?”
“Sure.”
“Do you ever think about the festival?” I ask before I can stop myself. “About what happened by the lake?”
Her expression shifts. “Yes.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know what to do with it.” She pushes off the counter and moves closer. “I don’t know what to do with any of this. With how I feel when you’re around. With how everything feels different now.”
“Different how?”
“Like maybe I’m allowed to want things again. Like maybe starting over doesn’t have to mean doing it alone.” She stops right in front of me. “You said you believe in fresh starts. That I make you believe it’s possible.”
