It vibrated around lunchtime. One new message. Jules.
A picture popped up first—a tomato from the farmers’ market shaped like a heart if you squinted or a butt if you tilted your head.
Cursed or just misunderstood?
Keaton huffed a laugh, the kind that caught him off guard and left his chest feeling weirdly full. He didn’t reply. Not yet. But he didn’t delete it either. Instead, he saved the photo to his camera roll.
“You okay?” He jumped at the sound of Luke’s voice directly behind him.
He tucked the phone in his pocket, embarrassed he’d been caught looking at a picture of a butt-tomato. “Yeah, why do you ask?”
“Dude, you’re laughing. There’s not a single fucking thing that’s gone according to plan today, and you’re sitting here smiling at your phone like a dope. What gives?”
“Jules sent me a picture of a tomato,” he replied before thinking about how ridiculous that explanation sounded. Luke placed the back of his hand against Keaton’s forehead. He batted it away. “What in the hell are you doing?”
“Checking to see if you’re running a fever. That’s the only explanation I can think of for you to smile about a freaking piece of fruit.”
Instead of trying to explain, Keaton pulled out his phone to show Luke the picture. While Finn would try to explain how locally grown produce will always look inferior to what you see in the store but the taste makes up for it, Luke might understand the humor. “Holy shit, it even looks like it has a sphincter! But why is Jules texting you like you’re besties?”
This wasnota conversation Keaton wanted to have while at work. Or any other time, really. But if he was going to talk to anyone about the shit swirling around in his brain, it might as well be Luke. At least he understood what it was like to have someone flip your world on its axis when you weren’t expecting it.
“We’re friends. You send me stupid shit all the time,” Keaton pointed out. He’d eventually tell Luke what was going on, but again, it wasn’t something you talked about at work. Maybe on Thursday night, although that’d be just as awkward since Jules was always their server.
Luke didn’t press for more, and Keaton was grateful. They worked in companionable silence for the rest of the afternoon, the kind of easy rhythm that came from years of knowing when to push and when to back off. Still, the question lingered, like an echo bouncing around in Keaton’s skull long after the noise of the site had quieted.
What gives?
He didn’t have a neat answer. Just a pit in his stomach and a butt-tomato picture he couldn’t stop thinking about. Something about the way Jules had texted him—light, irreverent, but personal—felt like a door cracking open. He could get used to texting back and forth throughout the day like Luke did with Noah when he wasn’t teaching. He envied his friend having someone who wanted to hear about all the mundane shit going on.
By the time the last contractor packed up for the day, Keaton’s head was pounding, and he was running late for dinner at his parents’ place. He closed out the project log, double-checked the site was secure, and lingered a beat longer than necessary.The building stood behind him, quiet now, but electric with possibility. He’d spent a good deal of the afternoon working in the corner unit on the second floor. It had great light, and he’d decided that was the unit he wanted to prepare for Jules. Part of him wanted to have the crew save that unit for last just so he had more time to sort out whatever it was he and Jules were doing, but that wouldn’t be fair to Jules. He’d offered them a place to stay until the apartment was ready; procrastinating to keep him close would be selfish.
Before backing out of his parking stall, he pulled his phone out to fire off a quick text.
I forgot to tell you that I’m having dinner with my family tonight. Sorry if you've already cooked.
He wasn’t used to having someone waiting for him at home. His chest warmed as he realized just how much he liked it.
No worries. I was just trying to figure out what to make. I’ll be at work by the time you get home.
Closing shift tonight.
Well, that sucked. He’d been looking forward to inviting Jules to watch a movie. Maybe make out a little. Because that was a thing they did now. Before he could respond, Jules texted again.
If you want, swing by when you’re done. It’s probably going to be a fairly slow night, but Jamie doesn’t want anyone closing alone.
Maybe I will.
Keaton debated texting Luke to see if he wanted to hang out before remembering he had a life now. Long gone were the nights Luke goaded him into going to the bar. Now, he was a total homebody, doing the family thing with Noah and Eli. They were so damned cute together. It was sickening.
He set the phone facedown on the passenger seat and pulled onto the road, trying to shake off the weight of the day. He wasn’t sure if it was the missed lunch, the busted delivery schedule, or the offhand comments from the new guys still looping in his brain, but everything felt heavier than usual.
And now he was late. To a dinner he’d promised not to miss. To his family, who noticed every crack in the armor he tried to keep intact.
He let out a breath, fingers drumming restlessly on the steering wheel, wishing he could turn the truck around and head straight home instead. He knew he should be looking forward to dinner, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to see Jules. It was ridiculous, really, but he hated the nights Jules had to work. The apartment felt emptier without them sitting on the opposite end of the couch, drawing while he read. He hated that the best part of his day wasn’t going to happen because he had to spend time with his family.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the ache that had settled there. Just a few hours. He could do this—smile, make small talk, act like his mind wasn’t a thousand miles away. But the truth was, he’d rather be home, enjoying dinner with Jules, sharing the couch, maybe just sitting together in that quiet way that didn’t feel lonely anymore. He missed them, plainand simple. And that was starting to matter more than almost anything else.
The thought lodged in his chest.
