“Are we going home soon?” she asked in a small voice.
We were both still pretending to be brave. I squeezed the handle and willed my voice not to wobble. “Not yet. Mr. Seth and his crew are still fixing our house. We will go back when it is safe and dry.”
She nodded like this was perfectly reasonable. Children have such faith. I wished I could borrow a thimble of it.
By the time I plated the pasta, the sun had slid low enough to send a stripe of gold across the floorboards. The sound of a truck rolled up the drive, and my pulse skipped in a way that annoyed me. Gravel shifted, doors thunked, then quiet settled again. Olive straightened on her stool.
“He is here,” she whispered. “Can he try our pasta?”
“We are not a restaurant,” I whispered back, which made her giggle and steal the sting from my words.
Footsteps crossed the lawn. A shadow moved past the side window. Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for another plate. It was a reflex, the kind that came from too many nights of setting two places at a table for the two of us. Olive’s and mine. Only now there was a third presence in the space between us and the main house, and I could not seem to stop making room for him.
A knock sounded. Two soft taps. I wiped my hands on a towel, told my heart to calm down, opened the door, and found Seth on the step, sweat-dark T-shirt clinging to his shoulders, hair shoved back like he had done it with the heel of his hand. Heheld a rolled tarp in one arm and a clipboard in the other. His eyes did a quick sweep of the room, then landed on Olive. They softened instantly.
“Evening,” he said.
“Hi,” I answered, trying not to stare at the smear of dirt along his forearm. “Long day?”
He exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh. “That depends. Do you measure days in nails hammered or fires put out?”
“Both.”
“Then yes.” He lifted the tarp. “Crew finished at the O’Malley place. Thought I would stash this in your closet. We will use it in the morning.”
Olive squirmed in her seat. “We are having spaghetti. Bunny said we should share.”
Seth’s mouth tipped at the corners like he wanted to smile and was negotiating with himself about it. He glanced at me, a quiet question in the look. I waved him in before I could overthink it.
“You can wash up at the sink,” I said. “But you are not allowed to complain about the sauce.”
He set the tarp by the door and moved to the sink with an obedient nod. Water rushed over his hands. He scrubbed like he was trying to remove the whole day. My chest tightened again, but this time it was not nerves. It was something close to recognition. He stood at a sink like he did on a jobsite. Efficient. Focused. The kind of person who does not quit just because he is tired.
We ate, perched at the island. Olive got extra cheese. Seth twirled his pasta with the care of a man who was trying not to make a mess on his shirt. The silence was not uncomfortable. It was the kind that had shape and warmth. The kind that allows room for forks to click, and for a child to hum between bites, a comfortable silence.
“This is good,” he said finally.
Olive beamed. “Mommy used basil from the porch.”
Seth nodded like this was a serious culinary detail. “Fresh herbs make all the difference.”
“See,” Olive told me, very pleased to have an ally.
I lifted my brows at him. “Do not encourage her.”
“Too late,” he said, and a real smile flashed. It was quick, then gone, but it made the room feel larger.
After dinner, I ran Olive her bath, then brought every stuffed animal she owned into the living room to watch a show. The guesthouse had a small couch that hugged the wall and two lamps that threw golden pools of light. I folded laundry on the ottoman while Seth replaced the battery in the front door keypad and made a note about weather stripping along the threshold.
“Insurance adjuster is coming at nine,” he said without looking up. “I will meet him there.”
“You don’t have to.”
He capped his pen. “If we write the report together, they won’t drag their feet.”
I pressed my hand against a warm shirt and let the gratitude slide through me slowly, the way honey warms in tea. “Thank you.”
He stood there a second, like he wanted to say something else. Then Olive climbed onto his foot and wrapped her arms around his leg like it was a tree trunk.
