He shoved the next brick harder than he meant to. Mortar bled at the seam.
Damn—watch it. They’re already looking for cracks.
The clang of a lunch bell echoed from the delivery wagon, followed by the familiar scrape of boots and shifting crates as the crew drifted toward the shade. Brandon tossed his gloves onto a beam and wiped his brow. “You coming?” he asked.
“In a minute,” Nic said, not looking up.
He stayed at the hearth, adjusting the corner where two lines met. A hair off now would haunt the whole build later. The mortar had started to tack, and he wanted the seam right. Around him, the air grew quieter, filled with the hum of bees and the distant murmur of men unwrapping bread and bottles. The smell of smoked meat drifted over, but he ignored it.
A few minutes later, footsteps approached—heavier than the others, more deliberate. Nic knew them without looking.
“You trying to shame the rest of us, or just make me nervous about my materials bill?” came his father’s voice.
Nic smirked and rose slowly, dusting his hands on his trousers. “Thought I’d get ahead on the arch. It’s almost right.”
Isaac didn’t answer right away. He stepped beside the fireplace and ran his fingers along the joint Nic had just finished. The gesture was quiet, but not casual—his father’s way of checking work had always been more like a conversation with the stone. After a moment, he gave a soft grunt of approval.
“You’ve got the curve balanced,” Isaac said. “Your grandfather would’ve liked it.”
Nic kept his eyes on the trowel in his hand, turning it once before slipping it into the water bucket. “Careful, Da,” he said lightly. “Say things like that and I’ll start thinking you’re proud of me.”
Isaac snorted. “I’m not shouting it from the rooftops.”
“Good. Mortar’s messy enough without a scene.”
Isaac gave a small chuckle and clapped a hand on Nic’s shoulder. “Come eat before you drop. You’re not building a kingdom today.”
Reluctantly, Nic followed him toward the tree line, where crates and canvas sacks had become a makeshift table. The crew sat scattered—legs outstretched, backs against timber piles, food already in hand. Conversation rolled in low waves, punctuated by laughter and the pop of a cork.
Nic sank down beside Brandon, accepting half a sausage with a lazy thanks. He joined the banter easily, tossing out a dig about Brandon’s cracked boots and another about how the chimney wouldn’t breathe properly with Martin’s head stuck in it. A few chuckles rolled back at him. He grinned and took a long drink from his canteen.
But the tone shifted when Isaac sat nearby. The crew straightened without meaning to, spines a little stiffer, laughs a little sharper around the edges. Even the younger ones, like Brandon, grew more cautious with their words.
“Hope someone brought something sweet,” Nic said, biting into a ball of cheese. “I’m wasting away over here.”
Brandon tossed him a bruised apple. “You’re all ribs and ego.”
“Ribs are structure. Ego’s just trim.” Nic caught the apple and grinned. “Good architecture needs both.”
A few chuckles. Someone muttered something about him talking like a steward again.
He gestured vaguely toward the half-finished hearth. “Say what you want, but she’s going to be a beauty. Curves like that? That’s Poetry in stone.”
“Poetry,” piped up Rene, peeling an egg. “Boy talks to bricks and thinks they whisper back.”
“Only the smart ones,” Nic said. “You lot would be stone silent.”
That got a real laugh. Even Isaac smiled faintly, tearing a strip of dried meat with his teeth.
Martin, who’d spent most of lunch chewing in slow silence, finally spoke up. His voice was smooth, but a sour scent lived under the words.
“Figure it’s easy for some,” he said, rolling a pick between his fingers. “Workin’ for your old da has its perks.”
Nic didn’t flinch. Not visibly. He took a measured bite of his apple, looked out at the treeline like the comment hadn’t landed.
“Perks?” he said. “Sure. Nothing like getting yelled at twice as much for doing the same damn job.”
Martin smiled without warmth. “Oh, I don’t know. Seems to me you get to make a lot of calls for someone who hasn’t put in the years.”
