When I step back out with two mugs, he’s already up on the ladder, one arm braced as he tightens something overhead.
“Careful,” I call. “That ladder looks older than me.”
“Then it’s got wisdom,” he says. “I trust it.”
I hand him the mug, holding it while he climbs down a rung. Our fingers brush.
“This is good,” he says after a sip. “Very strong. ”
“Hey.”
“I respect that in a beverage.”
I lean against the porch rail, watching him work as he moves back to the ladder, easy and competent, like he belongs in this space. The sound of hammering is oddly soothing, and we fall into conversation without effort.
“So,” he says, tightening a bolt, “market day soon.”
“Yes,” I say. “Assuming I don’t forget labels again.”
He chuckles. “Kids were already planning their strategy. As if I’m going to let them ‘help.’”
My brow furrows. “Strategy?”
“Caleb wants to man the free samples. Eliza wants to ‘manage customer joy.’”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Extremely.”
I smile, warmth blooming in my chest that has nothing to do with the sun. “They can help me set up next time.”
His hammer pauses mid-swing. He glances down at me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, suddenly shy. “If that’s okay.”
He nods once, decisive. “They’ll be thrilled.”
A comfortable quiet settles between us, filled with birdsong and the occasional commentary from the twins about Steve the Rock’s personality.
I realize, with a soft startle, that my shoulders have dropped. That I’m not braced for anything.
This isn’t awkward. Despite everything.
It’s… easy.
“Abilene?” Jesse says after a moment.
“Mm?”
“Next time something breaks,” he says carefully, “you can ask for help.”
I meet his gaze. There’s no pressure there. Just an offer.
“I know,” I say. And I do.
He smiles, climbs back up the ladder, and goes back to work while I sip my coffee and let myself feel… okay.
The problem is that my body remembers before my brain can stop it.
