Calvin winced. "Oh my God."
"Graceful," I deadpanned.
She bent to scoop it up again, and I had to actively not stare at the way her back curved.
"So what's on today's agenda, Bob the Builder?" she asked.
"Coffee," I said.
"You don't have coffee."
"Then step one is regret."
She laughed under her breath and glanced around, clockin' the boxes along the wall.
"You puttin' in lights today?"
"Was gonna try."
"I can help."
That got my full attention. "You?"
She shot me a look. "Yes, me."
"With what? Moral support?"
"Wiring. Framing. Sanding. I'm not useless, Brody."
"I never said you were." I pushed to my feet and grabbed my jeans. "Just didn't peg you for the tool-belt type. Kinda see you more like a mob boss, if I'm bein' honest."
She smirked. "You don't know what I am yet."
She wasn't wrong there.
"Hell," I said, draggin' my shirt over my head, "once we get some light fixtures in, you can squat here if you wanna. Ain't much to look at, but it's a hell of a lot more private than that bunkhouse."
"Hey, now," she said, nudgin' me with her hip as she passed. "Don't talk about Cat's home like that."
I froze. "Cat?"
She looked down at the kitten tucked against her chest. "You were absolutely gonna name it Cat."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
"Shut up."
She grinned like she'd just won the prize she'd been eyein' at the country fair.
Then her expression shifted—not big, not dramatic. Just quieter.
"I just might take you up on that," she said. "Might not be cozy, but it'll do for me for now." She glanced around the room like she was measurin' it. "Beats livin' in a truck. Or a trailer."
It came out a hair too harsh.
But I didn't ask.
