“Most days.”
That earned another faint movement at his mouth.
“You don’t have to see anyone.”
“No. It’s okay.”
“They’ll be nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because they care about you and have no idea what to say.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
For a moment, the space between us felt different. Not familiar. Not intimate.
Honest.
“That makes two of us,” he said.
Caleb and Owen arrived after work.
They had both changed clothes and scrubbed the yard grime from their hands, though dark residue remained in the lines around Caleb’s nails.
Noah noticed.
“Electrician?” he asked.
Caleb glanced at me before answering. “Systems technician.”
“Owen does carpentry and finish work,” I said.
Owen lifted a hand. “Hi.”
Noah looked between them. “You know me.”
“Unfortunately,” Caleb said.
I shot him a warning look.
Noah’s mouth twitched.
Caleb saw it and nearly sagged with relief.
“We brought you something,” Owen said. He held out a small wooden object.
It was a miniature sailboat hull, unfinished, no longer than a hand.
“You started carving it during lunch breaks,” Owen explained. “You said you were making it for the office, but then you decided the bow was wrong and threatened to burn it.”
Noah took it with his right hand.
His thumb moved over the smooth wood.
