“Almost there,” she said, tightening the last screw.
Spencer stood close, steadying the frame while she worked. When she finished, she turned to find him watching her in a way that made her stomach flip.
“Try it,” he said.
Meryl lifted the window, feeling the new hardware slide smoothly under her hand. When she lowered it again, the latch caught with a neat click.
“It works,” she said, unable to keep the delight from her voice.
“Of course it works,” Spencer replied. “You installed it.”
The simple certainty in his voice caught her off guard. He said it as if there had never been any question that she could do this, fix things, make them work again, bring them back to what they should be.
She looked around the sitting room, taking in what they had done. The brass hardware gleamed on the windows. The hooks held her jacket by the door. The repainted trim stood cleanand bright against the walls. The fireplace mantel, scrubbed and polished, held a small arrangement of pine branches she had gathered that morning.
It wasn’t finished, not even close. But now, she could see beyond the mess and the work still to come. Not just a project. Not just an inheritance to deal with. A place where someone might actually live.
Where she might live.
“Coffee?” she offered, suddenly needing a moment to steady herself.
Spencer arched an eyebrow. “Do you need to ask?”
“No.” She smiled to herself as she headed to the kitchen, filled the kettle, and set it on the camping stove. Her hands moved automatically through the familiar ritual of grounds, filter, and water while her mind kept circling back to the sitting room and the way the brass had caught the light.
When she’d first arrived at Pine Cottage, every repair had felt like a step toward leaving, a way to make the place presentable enough to sell. Now, each small improvement seemed to be doing something else. Not dressing the house up to sell. Because somewhere along the way, she had started to feel as if Pine Cottage already knew who belonged there.
The kettle whistled, pulling her back. She poured the water over the grounds and watched the coffee drip through.
“Here,” Spencer said from behind her, setting two clean mugs on the counter. She had not heard him come in.
“Thanks.” She filled both mugs, then handed one to him. Their fingers brushed, and this time she did not pull away quite so quickly.
They carried their coffee back to the sitting room and settled near the windows they had just fixed. The light poured in,warming the old floorboards and catching on the newly polished brass.
“What’s next on your list?” he asked after a while.
She glanced toward the notebook on the side table. “The kitchen cabinets, probably. I’d love to have a fully functioning kitchen. And since I have the electrician coming tomorrow, I’m hoping to be a step closer to having lights I can trust and a kitchen that works properly.”
“We could start on those tomorrow.”
There it was again. We. So natural now.
“I’d like that,” she said.
The light shifted slowly. The cottage creaked once somewhere above them, then went still again.
Spencer set his mug down. “I should probably head off. It’s getting late.”
Meryl looked at him, at the mug in his hand, at the room they had just made lovelier together, and understood with a jolt that she did not want the day to end yet.
“You could stay for dinner.”
Spencer looked up.
Heat rushed into her face so fast it made her want to be annoyed with herself.
“I mean, only if you want to,” she said at once. “It’s no big deal. Just... you’ve done a lot today, and I haven’t exactly got much in apart from eggs and bread and some cheese and half a packet of pasta, so it won’t be anything special. And if you’ve got plans, or you’d rather not, that’s obviously fine. I just thought...” She stopped and pressed her lips together. “Well. It seemed like the least I could do.”
