The boys all chime in.
“True.”
“Good point.”
“Fair enough.”
Ava raises her brows like she’s just won a small war.
I think about my workshop—the quiet, the smell of wood dust, the way the world settles when I’m sanding something real, something meant to last.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Still doesn’t feel steady enough.”
Rio shrugs. “Then make it steady.”
Everything is straightforward in Rio’s mind. He’s like a hard-ass Latino Yoda: Do or do not. There is no try.
I’m getting him a mug with that on it for Christmas.
Woodworking is a passion, and if I could make it work, I could do it from anywhere, even if Freya decides Echo Valley isn’t the place for her.
“It’s not a bad idea.” Gabriel nods. “You’ve got time to make it into something.”
Santi joins the table. “I know people who want bespoke items. Hell, fancy sheds are trending—if you’re into that.”
Support.
Offered so easily.
It knots something in my chest.
The last time I leaned on someone, I believed we were building a shared future. My ex-wife proved I’d been the only one building.
Thinking about her circles me back to Freya in the shed. I let my guard down, and she made me feel good about the man beneath the armor.
Since I’ve known her, she makes me feel valued. Justbeing around her, the way she thinks, speaks, carries herself…the way she thinks my opinion is worth a damn.
There have been moments since our diner meeting in LA when I’ve wondered if the “friends” agreement is just another way to avoid the real risk.
Because friends don’t get betrayed.
But men who build futures do.
And the truth I’m starting to face is that pretending this is nothing doesn’t protect me. Freya is already at the center of my life—whether I reach for her or not.
The stew is almost donewhen the front door clicks open.
“Hey…” I stir. “I hope you like beef bourguignon because I think I nailed it for the first time ev…” I glance up and see her face.
She’s standing just inside the door, keys dangling from her fingers, shoulders locked tight. Features haunted.
I turn off the burner and wipe my hands on a towel.
This woman needs a hug.
I pour a glass of the ginger-carrot apple juice she’s liking so much and meet her near the couch. “Sit.” I hand her the juice. “Talk to me.
She lowers herself with a soft thud and I take the cushion next to her.
