Jules watched from behind a table of drying sea turtles, arms crossed, heart doing somersaults. This wasn’t fair. Keaton wasn’t supposed to be good with kids. Or kind. Or the type of guy who dropped whatever he was doing to bring down art supplies for the kids.
He wasn’t supposed to fit here. This was Jules’s space.
But he did. Effortlessly. Like he belonged in this chaos, even though everything about him screamed order and structure. It made Jules feel off-balance in the worst way—like the ground could shift at any second, and they’d have no idea which way to fall.
Later, once the last kid had been picked up and the glitter had been mostly contained, Jules found Keaton wiping down tables with a damp cloth. His shirt was speckled with paint. There was a sticker of a narwhal stuck to the side of his boot.
“You didn’t have to stay and help, you know,” Jules said, leaning against the doorframe to the supply closet. “We had it mostly under control.”
Keaton looked up, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Didn’t mind.”
They stood there for a second. Not awkward, exactly. But not easy either.
Jules cleared their throat. “Would you mind helping me carry the paint bins back?”
Keaton nodded and followed them into the supply closet, where towers of labeled plastic tubs lined the walls. Jules lifted the lid on the one marked ACRYLICS and started stacking the smaller containers inside.
Keaton grabbed a second bin and began organizing dries and brushes with methodical focus. His movements were quiet, efficient. Calming.
“I never really pictured you in places like this,” Jules said, voice light. “Glitter doesn’t exactly scream ‘contractor.’”
Keaton’s mouth twitched. “I was more of a glue and LEGO kid.”
“Let me guess,” Jules said, passing him a box of brushes. “You hated it when Paige didn’t put your crayons back in the right order, didn’t you?”
Keaton let out a hearty chuckle. “Am I that predictable?”
Jules laughed, the sound surprising even them. It felt good. Real. “I mean, yeah, you sort of give off that vibe.”
They worked in silence for a bit, the only sound the soft thud of paint bottles and the shuffle of feet on linoleum. Jules wanted to bring up the offer. Wanted to ask if he’d meant it. But the words lodged in their throat like a splinter.
Instead, they said, “Thanks again. For the supplies.”
Keaton looked up, his gaze steady. “Anytime. Let me know if you need more…or if you need help. With anything.”
That pause. The weight.
Jules smiled, but it didn’t quite feel complete. “I’ll let you know.”
He nodded, then glanced toward the hallway. “I should get going. Early start tomorrow.”
“Of course.” Jules stepped aside, giving him room to pass. “Drive safe.”
Keaton hesitated at the door like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t. Just gave a small wave and slipped out into the evening.
The silence that followed was deafening. Before they realized what they were doing, Jules shoved the door open. “Keaton,” they called out, grimacing when they realized how loud they’d been.
Keaton stopped and turned back toward Jules. He shielded his eyes from the sun. “Yeah?”
“If you really meant it, I think I’d like to rent your spare room until you have a unit ready for move-in.” They made sure to emphasize that they’d be paying to stay there, both so Keatonknew they weren’t looking for charity, but also as a reminder that this was transactional.
Jules had no freaking clue how to interpret the smile that cracked Keaton’s face. His stomach did a little flip as he waited for an answer. But Keaton didn’t speak. Instead, he crossed the parking lot until he stood directly in front of Jules. His head tipped to the side the slightest bit. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Give me your number, and I’ll text you so we can set up a time for you to come over and see it.”
Keaton pulled out his phone. Jules bit back a retort about how they’d already given him their number once. If Keaton had forgotten about that, it was best left in the distant past. After rattling off their number, their phone buzzed.
Hey, it’s me.
The corner of Jules’s mouth tipped up. Leave it to Keaton to be straight to the point, even in text. With a bit of the weight off their shoulders, Jules felt almost giddy. They swiped across the screen, composing a message to return.
