“Yeah, well.” Luke busied himself examining another support beam. “Someone has to care about these places. Their history, their character. Otherwise, we end up with more cookie-cutter subdivisions like—” He stopped before mentioning the Tillerman project. While true that it was a huge project for the construction company, the new build bored him.
“Like what the realtor wanted me to buy?” Noah’s laugh held no humor. “Believe me, I looked. But this place…” He gestured around the attic, taking in the massive beams and complex joinery. “Even with all its problems, it felt right. Like it was waiting for us.”
The words hit Luke somewhere beneath his ribs. Because that’s exactly how it felt—like the house had been waiting. Not just for Noah and Eli, but for someone who could help it become a home again.
For someone like Luke.
Lightning flashed through the attic’s tiny windows, illuminating Noah’s face. In that brief moment, Luke saw everything—the worry lines around his eyes, the determination in his jaw, the trust in his expression that made Luke’s chest ache.
“We should check the other side,” Luke said roughly, needing to move before he did something stupid like touch Noah’s face or promise to fix everything. “The drainage issues probably extend?—”
His foot found a weak spot in the flooring. Noah’s hand shot out, grabbing Luke’s wrist and pulling him back before he could fall through. They stumbled together, Luke’s back hitting a support beam as Noah’s momentum carried him forward.
And suddenly, they were chest to chest, Noah’s hands still gripping Luke’s wrists, their breath mingling in the humid air. Luke could feel Noah’s heartbeat, rabbit-fast against his own. Could see each water droplet clinging to his eyelashes.
Could imagine, for one dangerous moment, closing the inch between them.
“Noah—” Luke started, but his voice was barely a whisper, too fragile to fill the charged space between them. Noah’s eyes darted to his, wide and searching, his usual self-assured demeanor cracked open to reveal something raw, unguarded.
“I—” Noah swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his grip on Luke’s wrists softened but didn’t let go. His eyes flicked down to Luke’s mouth, and Luke swore the world stopped turning for a heartbeat. Maybe two. “I don’t know what’s happening right now,” Noah murmured so quietly it could have been meant for himself.
But Luke heard it. Felt the words like a spark against his skin. And against every shred of self-preservation, he replied, “Maybe we don’t have to figure it out right now.”
The corner of Noah’s mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite let himself. “Luke, I—” he started again, but then his voice caught, and he stopped trying to find words. Instead, he took a single, trembling breath and closed the space between them.
It wasn’t a tentative kiss, not like Luke would have expected from someone he’d assumed was straight. It was warm and desperate like Noah had been holding his breath for years and had finally exhaled. Luke’s hands found Noah’s shoulders, gripping to steady himself against the dizzying pull of it. Noah’s lips were softer than he’d imagined.
A shriek from downstairs shattered the moment. “Dad!” Eli’s voice carried up through the house. “The bucket’s overflowing!”
They sprang apart like lightning had struck between them. Noah cleared his throat. “I should…”
“Yeah.” Luke ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Go. I’ll finish up here and then get the vacuum for you. Keaton should be here soon with the tarps and fans.”
But Noah paused at the attic stairs. “Luke? What would you do? If this was your house?”
The question carried weight beyond its simple words. Because this wasn’t just about repairs anymore. This was about trust, about letting someone in, about admitting you couldn’t fix everything alone. Luke could sense a vulnerability in Noah’s question, and he wished like hell he could ease what was actually worrying him.
“Honestly?” Luke met Noah’s gaze in the flashlight’s beam. “I’d recognize that some projects are too big for one person. Sometimes, you need someone who loves the house as much as you do. Someone who…” He swallowed. “Someone who cares about doing it right, not just fast.”
“Someone like you,” Noah said again, but this time the words held something more. Something that made Luke’s pulse skip and his carefully constructed walls tremble.
“Go,” Luke said softly. “I’ve got things up here.”
He watched Noah descend, trying not to think about how far things would have gone if Eli hadn’t interrupted them. Chances were already high that Noah would freak out at the first opportunity. Luke had to hope the best kiss of his life didn’t make Noah call off letting him fix the house after the storm passed.
“Focus,” Luke muttered, turning back to the damaged rafters. He had a job to do. A house to save. A family to protect.
Everything else—the way Noah’s trust made his chest tight, the way Eli’s faith terrified him, the way this whole situation was rapidly spinning beyond his control—would have to wait.
But as he examined the complex network of repairs needed, Luke knew he was past the point of no return. This house, these people…were under his skin now. Part of him in a way he couldn’t ignore.
The storm raged on, but inside, something had shifted. Like the house itself had orchestrated this moment, forcing Luke to admit what he’d known since that first inspection: he was all-in.
Professional distance be damned.
Three a.m. foundLuke in his workshop, hands busy with wood while his mind refused to settle. The storm had finally passed, leaving behind a silence that should have been peaceful but felt charged with possibility. Like the air after lightning strikes, waiting for thunder’s confirmation.
His phone sat silently on the workbench, the screen dark since Noah’s last text.
