I could have lied. Given her something easy. Practical. I didn’t.
“Because if I asked, you might’ve said no,” I said. “And I didn’t want you to have to carry one more decision.”
She was quiet for a long moment. The morning light shifted, warming the yellow walls, catching in the grain of the wood.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “For seeing me. Even when I don’t know how to ask.”
Something in my chest tightened. Not pain. Recognition.
She stood, crossed the room, and stopped a careful distance in front of me. Close enough to feel her warmth. Not close enough to touch.
“This doesn’t mean—” she started, then stopped. Took a breath. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe us anything.”
“I don’t,” I said. “I’m here because I want to be.”
Another long look. Measuring. Honest.
“Okay,” she said. Just that.
Okay meant trust. It meant acceptance. It meant she wasn’t pushing me away.
It also meant the line between us was still there. Clear. Necessary.
She slipped past me into the hallway, one hand trailing along the doorframe as she went. “I’m going to make more coffee,” she called over her shoulder. “The strong kind. Don’t say anything.”
I smiled despite myself.
When she was gone, I stayed where I was for a moment, alone in the nursery. In the quiet proof of something I’d built without permission but with care.
I looked at the crib. The chair. The space waiting to be filled.
I didn’t let myself imagine beyond that.
I turned off the light and followed her back into the kitchen, back into the ordinary shape of our days.
For now, this was enough.
It had to be.
The crew showed up on a Thursday.
I’d made some calls. Pulled in favors. Explained the situation: a friend in trouble, code violations, a sixty-day deadline. The big stuff—the electrical and plumbing—was already scheduled with licensed contractors. Grace had finally agreed to let me co-sign a small loan, just enough to cover the permitted work.
But there was plenty of other stuff. Structural repairs. Cosmetic fixes. The kind of work that didn’t require permits—just time, hands, and the willingness to show up.
Firefighters were good at showing up.
Grace woke to the sound of hammers.
I watched from the carriage house as she stumbled outside in her robe, six months pregnant, confusion and sleep still on her face. Her hand went automatically to her belly, the way it always did now.
Cal was on the roof with a tool belt around his waist, pulling up rotted shingles. Liam was replacing a window while Riley ran caulk along the seams. Reyes and Kowalski were hauling lumber from a truck. Lucy sat on the porch with Gabrielle on her hip, watching the chaos with an amused smile.
I met Grace in the yard, clipboard in hand.
“What is this?” Her voice was rough from sleep.
Cal grinned down from the roof. “Mitchell called in reinforcements. Said your gutters were a fire hazard.”
