Her fingers toyed with the hair on my chest, drawing aimless patterns. “Tragic,” she murmured with a laugh. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”
“Yeah,” I said, throat tight. “Guess I am.”
We lay there in the kind of quiet that didn’t ask for anything. Sunlight shifted up the wall. Somewhere downstairs, the heater kicked on with a low hum.
After a while she tipped her chin up, studying my face. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
I dragged my palm down her spine, letting my hand settle at the small of her back. “I was thinking about heading by the restaurant,” I said slowly. “Check out the second-floor framing. Something looked off yesterday when Austin showed me the pics. I want eyes on it.”
Her whole expression lit, pride softening her mouth. “Look at you,” she said, warmth threading through the tease. “Out in the world, terrorizing unsuspecting employees. They’re going to be happy to see you out there.”
The hit of it landed hard in my chest. She wasn’t talking to the guy who once lived on the couch and pretended the stairs didn’t exist. She was talking to the man who ran sites, who climbed ladders, who made decisions that held up walls. The man who brought beautiful buildings to life.
She saw me as the guy I used to be. The man I desperately wanted tobeagain.
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, trying to sound casual as my heart did a slow lurch. “Somebody’s gotta make sure they don’t cheap out on my beams.”
She smiled against my chest, then pressed a quick kiss there, right over my heart. “They’re lucky to have you,” she said. “I am too.”
That last line sat with me long after she slid out of bed to hunt for my T-shirt and hijack the bathroom. I watched her move around my room like she belonged in it—her lotion on my dresser, her makeup bag on the bathroom sink, her ringless hand shoving her hair into some kind of ponytail that was going to fall out in an hour.
By the time I was dressed, the decision was made.
I pulled on my work jacket, the one that still smelled faintly of sawdust and cold air, and grabbed my keys from the bowl. My leg felt steady under me, with any phantom pain a low, manageable buzz. My hand brushed the fridge where our stupid list of rules hung, the ink a little smudged from hands and time.
This wasn’t just about lumber or framing. It was proof.
Proof I wasn’t just the guy on the couch anymore. Proof I could walk a site again. Proof I could be a man who took care of things, of people, ofher.
I squeezed the keys in my fist and glanced once toward the staircase. Upstairs, Clara hummed off-key in the bathroom, and I headed for the door.
I’ve got this.
Cal’snew restaurant looked almost finished from the outside.
My truck tires crunched over packed snow as I pulled in, the cold bright enough to make my teeth ache. I killed the engine, satfor half a second with my hands on the wheel, and then shoved the door open before I could think too hard about it.
The air knifed into my lungs, clean and sharp. I forced my shoulders back and walked across the cleared path like I owned it.
Because I used to. Because I needed to.
The blue barn hulled up against the winter sky, big windows already framed in, fresh siding buttoned up tight. Through the rolled-back doors, the main floor was a maze of mostly complete walls and defined spaces now—future bar gleaming with new lumber, booth platforms framed out, kitchen rough-ins tucked behind sheets of plastic. Above it, though, the second floor was still bones and echoes, the skeleton of offices and storage rooms taking shape in raw studs and open joists.
A couple of the guys glanced up from the sawhorses. One of the laborers straightened, lifting a hand. “Hey, boss.”
Heads turned. A few more nods, a couple of quick, surprised looks that they tried to smooth out. I heard my name ripple through the half-built space—shit, he’s here—as nail guns popped in the background.
Austin stepped out from behind a stack of drywall, clipboard in one hand, tape measure hooked at his hip, and a beanie yanked down over his ears.
“You picked a cold-ass day to come play foreman.” He grinned and held out a hand.
Something warm and sharp slid under my ribs. This was who I used to be. Not the guy counting ceiling cracks from a couch groove.
“Somebody’s gotta make sure you idiots aren’t half-assing my plans,” I shot back.
We met in the middle and exchanged a quick handshake before Austin pulled me into a one-armed guy hug that jostled my shoulder more than anything. My leg took the weightwithout complaint. The phantom pain that had haunted the morning was quiet, a low hum instead of a siren.
Austin flipped his clipboard up. “We’re framing out the second-floor dining and checking the stringers,” he said, nodding toward the interior. “Stairs are roughed in. They’re ugly as sin right now, but they’ll hold.”
