Not just because Norah deserves something sturdy and beautiful for the market. Not just because she has already lost enough to things falling apart when they should have held.
It matters because this is something we can give her that stays upright. Something that does its job without fuss or apology.
Ryker adjusts the sawhorses while I measure the next plank, pencil tucked behind my ear. We’re not talking much, but we’re not quiet either.
There’s the language of tools and nods, of reaching without asking because we already know what the other needs.
“Angled legs are the right call,” Ryker says, tightening a clamp. “Ground’s going to be soft with this weather.”
“Already compensated,” I tell him. “Quarter-inch wider at the base. Weight distribution stays even even if the snow piles up.”
He hums in approval. “You think about everything.”
I shrug, lining up the next cut. “Someone has to.”
We lay the slats out on the floor, arranging them like a puzzle. Cedar shelves, sanded smooth enough not to snag fabric or skin. A raised lip at the back so buckets can’t slide. Cross bracing underneath for stability.
I’ve already routed shallow grooves for drainage, because flowers need to breathe even in winter.
“She’s going to love this,” Ryker says.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
He studies me for a second, then casually asks, “You talk to Maisie today?”
“No,” I say. “But I called Amber last night. She let me talk to her.”
Ryker straightens, eyebrows lifting. “You should have told me.”
I look up, and the expression on his face hits me right in the chest. “We got distracted, remember?”
“I remember, Jude.”
He has the same look he had when I walked into the bedroom last night and found him on his knees eating Norah out.
Dorian was smirking, collapsed on the bed, cock on his stomach, probably waiting for his turn.
Yeah, we got distracted pretty easily.
“How was she?” he asks, bringing me back to the present.
I lean against the workbench, exhaling. “She was curled up on the couch. Amber said she’s been sleeping better. Reading again. She loves spending time with Rufus and the rest of Stella’s pets.”
“What’s she reading?”
“Harry Potter,” I say, a smile pulling at my mouth despite myself. “Book three. She told me she likes Lupin because he’s nice even when things are hard.”
Ryker’s gaze softens. “So she’s happy?”
I consider the question carefully. “Happy-ish,” I say. “She laughed. That counts for something.”
“It counts for a lot,” he says.
I nod. “Amber said they might come up for the spring festival if the roads cooperate.”
Ryker claps a hand on my shoulder. “That’s good. And how’s Amber?”
I explain that she seems to be coping and that no matter how hard I took them leaving, she is, in fact, doing better with Maisie there with her.
