Page 75 of Show Me

The coffee is strong, a little bitter, exactly how I like it. That makes me pause. The mug lowers, and my attention drifts back to the note before I set it beside my keys.

No reason to look at it again. No reason to think about what it means. He didn’t stay. That’s what matters.

The drive into town passes in a blur of early light and empty roads. By the time the office door swings open, the smell of sawdust and fresh coffee relaxes my nerves a little.

Mr. Cole is already at his desk, glasses low, pen moving steadily across the ledger.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” He glances at the clock. “Early.”

Sleep wasn’t happening anyway. A shrug answers for me as I move behind the desk, setting my bag down and pulling the schedule closer.

Phones. Deliveries. Names. Times. Things that make sense. The door opens again. Boots on concrete. No need to look up; I recognize the cadence of his movement. And the scent of his cologne, cedar and musk.

“Morning,” Xavier says.

“Morning.” Paper shifts under my hands as heat creeps up my cheeks. A line that was already straight gets straightened. Silence stretches long enough to feel intentional.

“You sleep?”

“Yeah.” The lie comes easy. His eyes are warm, with a hint of worry and something else. Regret? Frustration? Resolve?

He nods, and the something else shifts away as quickly as it came. “Good.”

The computer goes dark as footsteps move past the desk, slower than usual, like something almost said didn’t make it out.

The phone rings.

“Cole Construction,” I answer before the first ring is done, grateful for the interruption, for the way it cuts through whatever that moment was trying to become and saves me from saying something stupid to fill the space.

By the time the call ends, he’s across the room, plans spread out, attention redirected. Safer that way. A stack of estimate sheets waits near the edge of my desk. Lindsey’s is at the top of the pile. I scan it and add her to the schedule. Unfortunately for her, there’s a lot of work before construction on her deck can begin.

A second later, movement across the room slows. Not stopped. Just… not moving the same.

“Supplies in?” Xavier asks, tone even, eyes on the paper instead of me.

“Looks like it.”

“Travis can take it.” The sheet gets clipped into place. No argument. No question. The tension in the room tightens anyway, brief enough to feel imagined before it disappears under the scrape of a chair and the shuffle of plans.

The door opens again about an hour later. I glance up to find Brent standing in the doorway.

My shoulders tense as my heart skips a beat. He’s not in gym clothes. Jeans. Jacket. A folded sheet of paper in his hand like this is normal, like he belongs here.

“I need a quote.” He smiles like it doesn’t feel like he followed me here. Like he didn’t spend weeks watching me.

I force down a shudder and straighten my spine. “For what?”

The paper unfolds. “Roof repair.”

Mr. Cole looks up.

Brent steps closer. Too close. “I figured….” His gaze travels over me. “Since you work here now…”

The words hang. My pulse kicks harder as I grab the paper calendar. “We can schedule an estimate.”

“Do you come out to do the estimates?”