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“Nothing. I was...” Nico gestured to the rolling worktable in the middle of the shop, the one he’d claimed as his bench the day he moved in. Instead of wood, paper lay scattered across the surface. He’d been sketching—a lot. “I started working on an idea. But then...”

His voice trailed off, and he glanced at his phone again.

“Nico, what happened? And don’t say nothing. I can tell something’s bothering you.”

He was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “Mr. Kowalski called. About the space.”

My stomach dropped. I’d prepared myself for this. He’d mentioned Kowalski’s call over Thai food, and when I said that’s good news, his yeah hadn’t convinced either of us.

“What about it?” I asked anyway.

“The warehouse space. It’s available starting January first. He wanted to know if I was interested.” Nico pressed his palm flat against the bench. “And he also said the original building should be ready by March, ahead of schedule.”

There it was. The arrangement we’d fallen into might be temporary after all.

“That’s what you were expecting, right?” I had to be happy for him to have his space back, even if I didn’t know what that’d mean for us. “To have your real workshop again. The full professional setup.”

“Yeah.”

That hit me like a check I didn’t see coming. Of course Nico would want his own workshop. Something that wasn’t a makeshift arrangement in someone’s carriage house. Room for larger commissions, proper ventilation for finishing work, space to expand. Everything I couldn’t offer him here.

“You should take it,” I said, hating the way my voice broke on should. “Get your business fully operational again.”

I’ve spent my entire career learning where to put my body. None of it told me what to do with myself in this moment. I ended up gripping the edge of his workbench.

Nico studied me. “Is that what you want? For me to go on the first?”

“I want whatever’s best for your business.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Nico—” I turned and walked to my workbench to open up some space between us.

“Look at me, Jake.” He moved toward me, not keeping his distance. “What do you want?”

The honest answer stayed trapped in my throat, too big to say out loud. I wanted him to stay. To keep building furniture, and a relationship, in the space we’d learned to occupy together. I wanted to wake up every morning knowing he’d be next to me. More shared projects and a shared life.

But wanting something didn’t make it practical. Didn’t make it fair to ask.

“You need a proper workspace,” I said instead. “Professional equipment, room to grow. I can’t give you that.”

“Jake.” Nico softened his voice, but he didn’t back off. “When do you get to want something for yourself?”

“I want lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like...” The words stuck again. I thought about the possibilities that the no-trade clause offered. About building a life that was more than furnishing a house. There was no choice but to say what I felt. “Like this. Working together, building beautiful things. Like spending days with you. Like having someone who understands why craftsmanship matters.”

“And?”

“And knowing that when I come home, you’ll be here.” The admission came out rough as I stumbled over the words. “Not because you have to be, not because you don’t have anywhere else to go, but because you want to be. Because what we’re building together is more important than convenience or business arrangements.”

Nico went still. His eyes stayed steady on me. I’d learned that stillness. It was what he did when he didn’t know how to say what he felt.

In my life, I’d never asked to stay anywhere. Asking meant wanting something out loud, where someone could deny it. I asked anyway.

“Stay.” It came out low and not quite steady. “Take your shop back in the spring. But make this your home. Now. For good.”