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“I think Jake should buy us lunch,” Tommy suggested.

“Actually, I should probably head out,” Nadya said. “I’m meeting my insurance guy at three.”

“Text me if I can do anything,” Nico said.

“You do the same, okay?” Nadya hugged Nico, fierce and quick. “Take care of him, Jake. He gets cranky when he doesn’t eat regularly.”

“I’m standing right here,” Nico protested.

“And you’re blushing. Love it when I can make you do that.” Nadya waved as she left.

I ordered up some pizza, and after we ate in the kitchen, Nico went out to his shop, leaving me and Tommy.

“This is really nice of you,” Tommy said.

“It’s just space.”

“No, it’s not. It’s space that’s your sanctuary.” Tommy took a swig of his beer. “I know how you are after tough practices, after losses. You disappear in there and make things. You had your workbench set up before anything else in this house.”

“I can figure something else out⁠—”

“That’s not the point.” Tommy studied my face.

Without saying it directly, Tommy had brought us back to the question he’d asked that morning. Why I was doing this.

A few hours of watching Nico work had given me more of an answer. He’d cradled the chest that held his grandfather’s tools. He’d gone quiet and careful over a stack of cherry boards. My grandmother used to get the same look, sanding a joint by hand long after it was already smooth. It reminded me why I’d ever picked up a chisel to begin with. And somewhere during the move-in, helping him had stopped feeling like a favor. How could I not do it?

For lack of a better response, I shrugged.

Tommy squeezed my shoulder. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice. He seems like good people.”

“Yeah.” I watched Nico through the window of his temporary shop. “I think so, too.”

“But promise me you’ll take care of yourself too. You still need to be able to do your work out there.”

I nodded. He was right. I’d given up my rented workshop when I bought this. But I didn’t need to figure that out today.

Tommy and I put away the leftovers and headed back out to see if we could help any more.

“I think I’m good,” Nico said. “And I should probably let you both get back to your day. All I’m doing is figuring out where everything belongs.”

“Need help?” I asked.

“I should do this part myself. Get a feel for the space, understand how it wants to work.” Nico paused. “But maybe tomorrow, if you’re free, we could take a look at your table? I’d like to get a sense for how that cherry wants to behave.”

“I’d love to.”

“Good.” Nico’s smile was genuine, relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before. “I really appreciate this. This might actually all work out.”

Tommy said his goodbyes, and Nico and I took in what we’d accomplished.

“Thank you,” Nico said softly.

“You don’t need to⁠—”

“Yes, I do. This is a chance to keep doing what I love, to finish my orders, to build your table.”

I looked around our workshop. Standing next to Nico, I didn’t want to go. I wanted to help. To be near him. To know him better. But I didn’t want to crowd him either.