“I’ll meet you in the living room. Maybe it’ll be easier to think about if I’m not sitting in the middle of the war zone we’re trying to put back to rights.” Noah glanced over his shoulder. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Nah, I’ll grab my water bottle while I’m at the truck.” And maybe he’d chug the whole damned thing while trying to remind himself why he was here.
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you in there once I get the dishwasher started.”
Noah entered the living room from one side as Luke closed the front door.
“So,” Luke said, spreading cabinet samples across Noah’s coffee table, “we’ve got a few options here. The originals are pretty beat up, but we could restore what’s salvageable and build matching replacements for the ones that are too far gone. Or”—he pulled out another set of samples—“we go with something completely new but keep with the house’s character.”
Noah settled onto the couch beside him, close enough that Luke could smell his cologne—something subtle and clean that made him think dangerous thoughts. “What would you do?”
“Honestly?” Luke ran his fingers along a piece of quarter-sawn oak, letting the grain ground him. “If it were my house, I’d restore what I could. These cabinets tell a story, you know? Each ding and scratch is like a chapter in the house’s history. And the design is simple enough that I could probably build something to match, so you wouldn’t have to pay as much for them.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?” Noah’s voice was soft, curious. “About houses having stories?”
“Yeah, I do.” Luke looked up, finding Noah watching him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. “My dad taught me that. He always said we’re not just fixing things. We’re preserving memories. Even when we’re making new ones. And I’d be willing to bet anyone who’s driven past this house has wondered about its history. This isn’t some mass-production home. It’s always been special.”
Something flickered in Noah’s expression. “Eli’s already convinced the house is full of secrets waiting to be discovered.”
“Smart kid.” Luke shifted, suddenly aware of how their knees were almost touching. “Speaking of discoveries, want to see something cool?”
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through photos until he found what he was looking for. “See this detail on your current cabinets? It’s hand-carved. Probably original to the house. You don’t find craftsmanship like that anymore. Even if we go with new cabinets, I think we should find a way to incorporate bits like this somewhere. It’d be a shame to throw someone’s hard work into a scrap pile.”
Noah leaned closer to see the screen, and Luke’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth radiating from Noah’s body, could see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the living room’s soft light. This was exactly the kind of situation Luke usually avoided—too intimate, too domestic, too…real.
“Beautiful,” Noah murmured, and Luke wasn’t sure if he meant the carvings or something else. “But how would you restore them without blowing my life’s savings? I can’t imagine reproductions of this would be cheap.”
“That’s why I suggested building something close enough to the originals rather than sourcing true reproductions.” Luke’s voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, if we restore them, we can maintain character while making them functional again. Then we can move the existing doors around so whatever doesn’t match exactly looks intentional.”
“Let’s do it.” Noah sat back, breaking whatever spell had started to weave around them.
Luke launched into a detailed explanation of potential issues, probably going into more depth than necessary. But Noah listened intently, asking smart questions and taking notes in precise handwriting. It was…distracting.
“Mr. Luke!” Eli’s voice carried down the stairs. “I finished my homework! Can I have my cookie now?”
The interruption was both welcome and disappointing. Luke gathered the samples, careful not to let his hands brush Noah’s. “We can go over the rest later. Pretty sure we’ve got a very eager treasure hunter waiting for his reward.”
“Yeah.” Noah stood, running a hand through his hair in a gesture Luke was starting to recognize as a sign of nerves. “Thanks for…all of this. The samples, the explanations. The cookies.”
“Just doing my job.” The lie tasted bitter. Because this—the easy conversation, the lingering looks, the way his chest tightened when Noah smiled—was definitely not part of the job. “Though maybe we should save the rest of the technical stuff for when we don’t have an audience waiting for chocolate.”
Noah’s laugh was soft, real. “Probably wise. Though I have to warn you, once he gets that cookie, you’ll be his favorite person forever.”
“I can think of worse things,” Luke said before he could stop himself. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air felt charged with possibility.
Then Eli thundered down the stairs, and the moment shattered like old window glass.
Luke watched Eli demolish his cookie with the single-minded focus only a six-year-old could manage, trying to ignore how domestic the scene felt. Noah had made coffee—“because you can’t have cookies without coffee, right?”—and now they were all gathered around the kitchen table like some kind of…family.
The thought hit him like a physical blow. His sisters would have a field day if they could hear him thinking that sort of craziness. Luke needed to remember he was the hookup guy, not the picket fence and family sort.
Keaton’s words from the bar echoed in his head:“What happens when you fall for him?”As if that were even a possibility. Luke didn’t do relationships. He definitely didn’t do straight guys with kids. He had a system, dammit, and it worked. Meet someone at a bar or through an app, have some fun, maybe hook up again if the chemistry was good, but never, ever let it get complicated.
This? This was nothing but complications.
“Mr. Luke?” Eli’s voice pulled him back to the present. “How come you’re not eating your cookie?”
“Just saving the best for last, buddy.” Luke forced a smile, breaking off a piece of the cookie he’d forgotten he was holding. It was perfect—rich and chocolatey, classic Megan. But it tasted like ash in his mouth.
