Noah stared at the message until the words blurred. Suddenly, the careful structure of his day felt as secure as his kitchen faucet.
The responsible thing would be to reply immediately, to schedule a time for Luke to assess the damage. To admit he needed help.
Instead, Noah set his phone face-down on his desk and pulled up his lesson plans for tomorrow. One thing at a time. He’d deal with Luke Garrett later.
The afternoon sunslanted through Noah’s classroom windows, heating the room to nearly intolerable levels. Even ifthe school had central air, it was too early in the year for them to turn it on. His last class had filed out ten minutes ago, leaving behind the usual debris of crumpled papers and forgotten pencils. He should head to the elementary school to pick up Eli, but Luke’s unanswered text weighed on him like a physical presence.
His phone buzzed—Rachel again.
Did Luke text you yet? He’s really good at what he does, Noah. Just give him a chance. If it’s too much for him to handle, he can talk to Finn about cutting you a deal on having their company do the job. Your place is like catnip to guys like Keaton and Luke.
Noah ran a hand through his hair, remembering how Rachel and Megan had practically adopted him their senior year when they realized he spent most afternoons studying alone in the library. The twins had different approaches—Rachel charging in with solutions while Megan offered quiet support—but their protective instincts hadn’t changed in the years since high school.
Yes, he sent me a message. Haven’t had a chance to respond yet.
More like he’d been putting it off. He wasn’t sure why the idea of having Luke in his space bothered him so much. If he was as good as Rachel claimed, Noah needed him. And fine,thatwas the rub. Yes, Luke had been annoying when they were younger, but something about him had demanded Noah’s attention. And he didn’t like distractions.
Rachel’s reply was immediate.
Don’t overthink it. The house needs work, Luke won’t screw you over. Simple.
If only anything were that simple.
Noah gathered his things, checking his watch. He only had about fifteen minutes before Eli’s after-school program ended. Maybe they could stop by the library to pick up some new books. Anything to avoid going home to the broken faucet, a mountain of dirty laundry, and the growing list of repairs he couldn’t handle.
His classroom door creaked open. “Thought I might find you still here.”
Sarah stood in the doorway, a stack of files tucked under one arm. “Hiding from your house?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s been where you are.” She leaned against a desk. “You know, when Jack and I bought our first place, it was a disaster. Worse than yours, probably. I spent three months trying to convince myself I could handle it alone.”
Noah stuffed papers into his messenger bag, not meeting her eyes. “Let me guess—you finally asked for help?”
“Actually, I put my foot through the rotted bathroom floor. Jack, an air cast, and crutches made the decision for me. He called Keaton over at Anderson Homeworks, and their crew didn’t strangle me when I tried micromanaging everything.” Sarah’s laugh held no judgment. “Sometimes we need a wake-up call. Doesn’t have to be as dramatic as mine though.”
An image of his kitchen ceiling collapsing flashed through Noah’s mind. “Point taken.”
“Just think about it.” Sarah headed for the door, pausing in the frame. “Oh, and Noah? Welcome back to small-town life. Where everyone knows your business, but they also know exactly who to call when you need help.”
The drive to Eli’s school gave Noah time to think. About Sarah’s words, about Rachel’s persistence, about the way his son’s face fell every time something else broke in their house. They’d moved here for a fresh start, not to watch their home crumble around them.
Eli bounded out of the room the moment Noah came into view, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders. “Dad! Look what I made!”
Noah helped him buckle into the car, examining the craft project Eli thrust into his hands—a house made of popsicle sticks, complete with a crooked chimney and windows drawn with marker.
“It’s our house,” Eli explained, “but better. See? I fixed the broken parts.”
Something caught in Noah’s throat. “It’s perfect, buddy.”
“Can we fix our real house too?”
“Yeah.” Noah started the car, decision made. “I think maybe we can.”
At home, Eli settled at the kitchen table with his homework while Noah pulled out his phone. Luke’s message still waited for a response. Taking a deep breath, Noah typed.
I have time tomorrow after school. Around 4?
