“Your documentary is going to be really good,” I say, and I mean it. “The stuff you showed me the other night, the way you talked about those people and their stories—that’s real. That matters.”
He looks up, and our eyes meet. “Thanks, Kiera.”
The moment stretches between us, warm and fragile, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like cross the room and hug him again.
Or worse.
I turn back to my boxes with renewed focus, determined to keep things light and friendly and absolutely not romantic.
"Captain Joe taught me how to cook fish," River says after a minute, and I glance over to find him studying the bedframe instructions with a slight frown. "Well, he tried to. I'm not sure I retained much beyond 'don't burn it.'"
Despite myself, I smile. "Revolutionary advice."
"He had this technique though—the sear-and-tent method. You get this perfect crust on the fish, then you remove it from the heat and tent it with foil. Let it finish cooking with the heat it's already built up." He looks up, meeting my eyes. "He said the best fishermen know when to trust the heat they've already built, instead of trying to force it with more fire.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest feel tight. Like he's talking about more than just fish.
"Sounds like Captain Joe was pretty wise," I manage.
"Yeah." River's smile is soft. "He was."
We work for another hour. River finishes putting the bed together while I make serious progress on the boxes. The apartment is slowly starting to look like an actual living space instead of a storage unit. My clothes are hung up or folded in drawers. My kitchen supplies are arranged in the tiny cabinets. Books are shelved. The space is small, but it’smine, and every box I unpack makes it feel more real.
“I’m starving,” River announces, stepping back after making my bed. “What time is it?”
I check my phone. “Almost six-thirty. We’ve been at this for hours.”
“No wonder I’m hungry.” He stretches, and I absolutely do not notice the way his shirt rides up slightly or the muscles in his arms. Nope. Not noticing anything. “Should we take the truck back to Kiki then head back to my place for dinner?” he asks.
“Yeah, good idea.” I stand, surveying the apartment. “I still have boxes to unpack, but at least I’ll have a bed to sleep in tonight, thanks to you.”
River smiles at me, and I take a moment to let myself feel excited. My first apartment. “This is really happening,” I say, more to myself than to him.
“It really is.” River leans against the doorframe, and there’s something soft in his expression. “You did it, Kiera.”
My knees weaken. “We should go. Kiki needs the truck back.”
We drive to Kiki’s house in the truck, and I try not to think about how natural it felt to work alongside River all afternoon, how easy the conversation was, how comfortable I’m getting with him being in my space and my life.
This is dangerous. This is exactly how it started last time—feeling comfortable, feeling safe, letting my guard down.
But River isn’t like him. The thought whispers through my mind before I can stop it. River hasn’t asked for anything. Hasn’t pushed. Hasn’t made me feel like I owe him something for his help.
I shove the thought away as we pull into Kiki’s driveway.
Kiki comes out to meet us, and we hand over the truck keys. “Thank you so much for borrowing the truck,” I tell her.
“Of course.” She hugs me. “I’m so excited for you. Your own place!”
“I know.” I can’t quite keep the smile off my face. “It’s small, but it’s perfect.”
“We should have a housewarming party,” Kiki suggests. “Nothing big. Just family.”
“Maybe.” I glance at River, who’s leaning against my car, giving us space. “We’ll see.”
After a few more minutes of chatting, River and I get into my Honda and I drive us back to his place. The sun is starting to set, painting everything in shades of gold and orange, and I’m acutely aware of River in the passenger seat beside me.
“Thanks for helping today,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
