They fell into a rhythm after that. Spencer worked on removing the damaged boards while Meryl made notes of the measurements and gradually cleared away the debris. She was methodical, he noticed, organizing the removed boards by size and condition, separating nails and hardware into a small container, keeping track of what they found.
When it came time to cut the replacement boards, Spencer showed her how to measure twice before marking the cut line. Her hands were steady as she held the wood, and she asked smart questions about grain direction and how to account for the house’s natural settling.
“You’ve done this kind of work before,” he observed as she helped him fit the first new board into place.
She shrugged. “Not exactly. But I’ve watched a ton of how-to videos. Assess, plan, execute, check.”
“That’s about right,” he agreed, hammering the board into place.
By midmorning, they had replaced four floorboards in the hallway and identified the worst sections of the porch for rebuilding. The progress was visible, satisfying in a way that made Spencer’s bear rumble contentedly inside him.
Meryl carried an armful of broken boards into the front room and set them down near the wall. Then she stopped by the window.
Not for long. Just long enough to brush her fingers over the damaged edge of the window seat.
The seat looked no better in daylight than it had yesterday. Probably worse. The top board was split and warped, the paint peeling, and the damage too obvious to ignore. But even from where he stood, he could see what had been there.
And the care whoever made it had taken. It had been built to be used and loved.
Meryl glanced back at him. “Hilda used to read there.”
The words were quiet enough that they barely seemed meant for him.
Spencer set down the hammer. “I can see why. It’s the perfect spot.”
She nodded once, then drew her hand back and looked away as if she had said more than she meant to. A second later, she was all business again, flipping open her notebook.
“We should probably focus on the porch next,” she said.
“Probably,” Spencer agreed.
But he looked at the window seat one more time before he turned back to his work, storing away the shape of it, the angle of the sides, the way her face had changed when she touched it.
They worked through until early afternoon, the pile of replaced boards growing steadily. The hallway floor was now secure, the worst of the porch marked for rebuilding, and they had even managed to identify where the roof leak was likely coming from.
As Spencer packed his tools, he felt a satisfaction that went deeper than simply finishing a job. The cottage already lookedmore hopeful, less abandoned. And Meryl seemed more hopeful, too, her notebook now filled with organized lists rather than overwhelming problems.
“I’ll bring proper lumber for the porch tomorrow,” he said, closing his toolbox. “If that works for you.”
She looked surprised. “You’re coming back?”
“Unless you don’t want the help.” He kept his voice neutral, though his bear was already growling at the thought of staying away.
Meryl hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I could use the help. But I insist on paying you for your time.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, not wanting to argue but having no intention of taking her money. “Maybe just coffee again. It was good.”
That earned him a small smile, brief but real. “I’m sure your time is worth more than a cup of good coffee.”
“Make it two,” he teased, and her smile deepened.
As he walked back to his truck, Spencer glanced over his shoulder. Meryl stood on the newly secured section of the porch, running her hand over the rail.
See? She’s beginning to fall in love with the place,his bear rumbled with satisfaction.
Spencer wasn’t sure about that last part. But as he drove away, he found himself thinking not about the hallway boards or the porch supports, but about the way Meryl’s fingers had rested for a moment on the ruined window seat, as if she already understood it had once mattered.
Pine Cottage was still a mess, but it no longer felt impossible. And neither did the connection beginning to form between him and Meryl.
