I yank the door open before I can overthink it, stepping out onto the porch with a hand braced on the frame. “What are you doing?”
He looks up, grinning, sunlight catching in his hair as if he planned it that way. “Good morning to you too, Honeybee.”
“You can’t just… show up with power tools,” I say, even as my heart does an annoying little flip.
“Sure I can,” he replies cheerfully. “I’m insured. Emotionally questionable, but insured.”
I glance at the ladder leaning against my house, then at the stack of lumber near the fence. “Jesse.”
“Before you say anything,” he cuts in, holding up a finger, “this is not a rescue mission. This is a neighborly assistance situation. Very official. Very aboveboard.”
“I didn’t ask you to?—”
“I know,” he says easily. “That’s why it’s a surprise.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
Somewhere in my chest, my heart loosens.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say instead, quieter now.
He shrugs, adjusting his tool belt. “The twins wanted to help. I told them you can’t let children near ladders or nails, so they’re supervising from the porch with snacks and very strong opinions.”
As if summoned, Caleb pops his head around the corner of the house. “Daddy! I found a rock shaped like Wyoming!”
“That’s great, buddy,” Jesse calls back. “Please don’t throw it.”
“I wasn’t going to!” Caleb yells indignantly. “I was going to name it.”
Eliza appears beside him. “I named mine Steve.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, one hand flying up to cover my mouth like that might contain it. Jesse watches me with thatsoft, pleased look he gets sometimes, like my laughter is a win he wasn’t expecting.
“Well,” he says, clapping his hands together, “I’ve got a loose gutter, a cracked step, and what looks like a very offended patch of siding. Figured I’d start where gravity’s most likely to ruin someone’s day.”
I blink at him. “You noticed all that… yesterday?”
“Hard not to,” he says lightly. “Your house wears its feelings on the outside.”
I feel that land somewhere tender.
“Oh,” I manage. “I… thank you.”
He ducks his head, suddenly very interested in checking the ladder’s stability. “Don’t get sappy. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
“You showed up with tools at eight in the morning,” I point out. “The reputation ship has sailed.”
He snorts. “Fair.”
I hover there for another second, unsure what to do with my hands or my feelings, then clear my throat. “I can make coffee.”
His head snaps up. “Real coffee? Or emergency apocalypse coffee?”
“Real coffee,” I say defensively. “I only buy the good stuff.”
He grins. “Be still my heart.” His gaze flicks toward his truck. “I also brought your things from the cabin—I’ll carry them in while you make the coffee.”
I thank him before heading inside, moving on autopilot, grinding beans, filling the kettle, trying not to think too hard about the fact that Jesse Murphy brought over my stuff and is fixing my house like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
