“Mind showing me around?” Jules asked, breaking the silence with a playful tone in their voice.
“Of course.” Keaton gestured for them to follow, leading the way through the apartment.
As they moved through the space, Jules couldn’t help but notice the little details—how Keaton’s life was organized into neat, precise lines, every item in its designated place. It was a world so different from their own, yet there was a comforting predictability to it.
“You can move in whenever you’re ready. I know you probably want to spend time with your folks before they move.”
Ordinarily, he’d have been right, but things had been tense at home since they’d announced the move. It was as if they’d all forgotten how to talk to one another and everyone was afraid to acknowledge the elephant in the room.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to start bringing stuff over right away.” Jules wondered what Keaton would think about themnotwanting to spend every minute possible with their parents. The Anderson family was tight-knit in a way that would’ve been stifling to Jules. It was safe to say their free-spirited nature was a direct result of their upbringing. “I’m sure my mom will breathe easier when she’s not worrying about me messing up my room right before a showing.”
As soon as the words were out, they realized it sounded like they’d relied on her to pick up after them. “I’m not a total slob or anything. I don’t want you to regret letting me stay here. And I didn’t make her clean up after me. But really, I’ll be good. I did bring a few things over with me now, so I’ll bring them up before I head home. I mean, before I go back to get another load. I guess this is home now. Sort of?”
“I’d like it if you’re able to think of this as home, even if it’s only temporary.” Keaton placed a calming hand on their shoulder. “I think I understand what you’re saying. Just let me know if you need any help.”
“I will. Thanks.” Keaton disappeared into his room, leaving Jules alone in the living area. They looked around, already brainstorming things they might bring overifthey got the impression Keaton was truly open to Jules taking up space in the common areas. The problem was that Keaton had admitted to getting rid of his secondhand purchases, and that was pretty much all Jules had.
Oh well, that was a problem for down the road.
They went down to the car for the first load of boxes. As they kicked the car door closed, they spotted Keaton at the back door of the building that opened into the stairwell. They should have known he’d still try to help.
“If you’re going to do whatever you’d like, you can grab the boxes out of the trunk.” They hoped their tone came across as playful rather than ungrateful.
“I’m not going to hide out in my bedroom while you’re lugging stuff upstairs,” he responded, his tone sharper than Jules remembered ever hearing. It was almost…defensive? As though hehadplanned on “hiding out” and had thought better of it. Jules hoped that wasn’t the case because their biggest fear was making Keaton feel uncomfortable in his own home. “Is the car unlocked?”
“Yeah. I’ll probably have to get used to locking it now that I’ll be living in town.” Hell, most of the time, Jules didn’t even bother taking the keys out of the car. They’d have to be more vigilant.Maple Hill wasn’t a high-crime area or anything, but it wasn’t smart to practically invite someone to take their car.
It didn’t take long to empty the car with Keaton’s help. Jules stood in their new room, the first load of belongings stacked neatly along the wall. It shouldn’t have surprised them that Keaton had stacked the boxes according to size, with those labeledBooksat the bottom of each stack. Jules let out a slow breath, trying to absorb the reality of this new chapter and the man who’d made it possible.
Keaton lingered in the doorway, arms crossed in a casual stance that belied the curiosity in his eyes. It was clear he was trying to give Jules space, yet there was a subtle eagerness in his posture. Like he was waiting for Jules to need something, anything, from him.
Jules turned their attention to the boxes, saddened by the realization that they contained everything they considered to be essential in the move. They began to unpack, pulling out items one by one. A worn sketchbook with pages curling at the edges, a tangled mess of colored pencils, a small figurine they’d picked up in a market in Barcelona. Each item was a memory, a story, a piece of their journey.
That had been at the start of their adventure, when they thought they were ready to take on the world. Literally. Unfortunately, only a week later, their knapsack was stolen, forcing them to realize how sheltered their life had been until that point. Their first panic attack had come in a cold hotel room that night and had marked the beginning of the end of their time overseas. And really, the end of their dream of life as a nomad, traveling the world, documenting their travels with paints and pencils.
Keaton watched with quiet interest, his eyes following Jules’s movements. “Need a hand?” he offered, stepping into the room, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his boots.
“Sure,” Jules replied with a grateful smile. “I could use some help setting up a workspace by the window. The natural light there will be better than trying to get the shades right with just the lamp.”
“Sorry, I hadn’t really planned on anyone staying in here more than a night or two, so I didn’t bother wiring a ceiling fixture.” Keaton rearranged the small desk that sat under the window.
“Don’t apologize. I’ve always preferred a spot by the window if I can’t create outside. Natural light is far better, no matter the lighting situation.” Jules was starting to see a bit of that soft center Paige had told them about. Then again, it didn’t get much squishier than Keaton inviting someone to stay with him, even though he obviously guarded his privacy.
As they worked together, a box of colored pencils tipped over, the contents scattering like a rainbow across the floor. They both reached to gather the pencils, their fingers brushing in the process. The brief contact sent a jolt of electricity up Jules’s arm, making their breath catch.
“Sorry about that,” Jules said, their laughter coming out slightly breathless. They were suddenly aware of how close they were, knees nearly touching as they crouched on the floor.
“No worries,” Keaton replied, his voice dropping to a lower register that made something flutter in Jules’s stomach. His fingers lingered a beat too long before withdrawing. “I should have been more careful.”
Their eyes met, and Jules couldn’t help but notice the flecks of amber in Keaton’s eyes, visible only at this proximity. Keaton’s gaze dropped briefly to Jules’s lips before snapping back up, a flush creeping up his neck. The room around them seemed to shrink, the distance between their bodies suddenly the only measurement that mattered. Keaton’s presence was solid, grounding, a reassuring counterpoint to Jules’s usual whirlwind energy—and right now, an undeniable pull that Jules wasn’t sure how to resist.
“So, do you have a favorite medium?” Keaton asked, settling back on his heels once they’d collected the last of the pencils.
Jules considered the question, their gaze drifting to the half-empty box of art supplies. “Depends on the day,” they admitted. “Sometimes it’s pastels, other times it’s ink. I like the freedom to choose, to follow wherever inspiration leads.”
Keaton nodded, seeming to absorb the sentiment. “That’s got to be freeing. In construction, there’s a lot of planning and structure. The most creative I get is finding solutions to make something old feel new again.”
Jules looked at him, curiosity piqued. “Did you always want to go into construction?”
