Page 81 of Priest

Evan, who has apparently been summoned by either power tools or the scent of attractive men performing domestic labor, appears in the doorway at exactly the right moment. “Oh wow,” he says, eyes lighting up. “Nothing says masculinity like being humbled by baby furniture. Truly the pinnacle of evolution.”

Ink turns the instruction booklet around without looking at him. “You gonna help or narrate?”

“I absolutely cannot,” Evan replies, leaning against the doorframe with one hand pressed to his chest. “I will narrate, flirt, and emotionally support. Working with power tools isn’t one of my gifts, but I do bring atmosphere.” His eyes flick to Ink’s hands. Linger. “Also, you’re very good with your hands.”

Lila slips in behind him carrying drinks, already wearing the expression of a woman who has spent years loving Evan against all medical advice. “He brought muffins.”

“I also brought myself,” Evan says. “Arguably the greater gift.”

Nomad looks over his shoulder, eyes dragging over Evan with lazy amusement before he gives me his attention again. “One wall,” he says. “Soft background, loose detail. I can keep it light enough to finish today if nobody makes me paint every leaf like it owes them money.”

That answers the question I hadn’t asked yet.

“You’ve painted nurseries before?” I ask.

He looks back at the wall, but something in his face shifts. Barely there. “Yeah. My kid’s room. Ledger’s boy’s. A few others.”

Something settles in my chest. “How many kids are there?”

Nomad pauses long enough to count without looking like he’s counting. “Probably more than we deserve.”

Ink snorts. “He painted Cage’s room like it was sacred.”

“Ledger asked for bears,” Nomad says. “I gave him bears.”

“You gave him a forest with moonlight and a bear family that looked like it had generational trauma.”

Nomad’s grin cuts sideways, quick and wicked. “That’s called range.”

I laugh before I can stop myself, and even Priest’s mouth moves like he’s fighting one.

Nomad looks at me then, expression softening in a way that makes the teasing feel like a curtain he lets fall when he chooses. “When my kid was born, I figured out pretty fast that runnin’ only works until somebody needs you to stay. Painting gave me somewhere to put all that restless shit.” His grin returns, lighter this time. “Also, babies are terrible art critics. Very forgiving crowd.”

There’s a whole life here I’ve only seen in fragments. Men who know how to dismantle engines and build cribs, men who carry violence in their shoulders and tenderness in places they barely admit exist.

“So,” Nomad says, tapping two fingers against the wall, “you want a mural? One wall. Soft enough to sleep under.”

I glance at Priest out of reflex.

He doesn’t answer for me.

He just waits.

“Yes,” I say. “I’d love that.”

Nomad nods once, already pulling supplies from the cart like this decision was inevitable. Priest moves toward the larger furniture boxes, and Ink settles beside him with the quiet efficiency of someone who likes having a task he can control. Boxes open. Instructions flatten. Hardware gets sorted into careful lines.

Evan watches Ink’s hands for exactly two seconds before proving he has learned nothing from any social consequence in his life. “You’re very competent,” he says. “It’s doing things to me.”

Ink pauses. Just for a beat. Then resumes tightening a bolt. “You’re distracting.”

“That’s fair,” Evan says. “I distract myself too. Also, you’re welcome.”

Lila touches my elbow, nodding toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let them wrestle the furniture before Evan starts naming screwdrivers.”

“I heard that,” Evan calls.

“You were meant to,” she says, and pulls me with her.