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“What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up?”
I wink. “Called one of your brothers instead. Val likes me, doesn’t he?”
“You’re a terror.”
I push at his chest playfully. “Go get your toolbox.”
The only thing better than falling in love—with the vanity, obviously—is watching Sterling load it into his truck. He doesn’t even ask for my help; he’s somehow able to lift it in easily once he removes the mirror and legs. That leaves me standing near the truck drooling until he opens the door and says, “Get in.”
We drive with his hand on my thigh, the music of my choice—bedroom pop—playing in the background. He’s becoming familiar with my songs, humming along, and when the setting sun shines into his face, I’m struck by how his eyes reflect the sky.
Everything is perfect as long as I forget what he said.
He loves me.
Not.
He carries all the pieces up to my room, only asking me to bring the legs, and I sit on my bed as he kneels on the floor and dutifully works.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask. “Building things.”
“I’m not building this.” He chuckles. “But I built my cabin. My dad’s a retired contractor. Taught me a thing or two.”
“Huh.” I tilt my head. “Dad or Pops?”
I’ve noticed he refers to them both by different names, and I need to know which to tie this apparent career to.
“Dad.” He snorts. “Pops is useless with his hands, but don’t tell him I said that.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
He pushes his glasses up his nose, looking up at me. “Seriously. This is easy.”
“Anything is easy. You built a house.”
“A cabin.” He rolls his eyes and stands up, turning the vanity upright now that the legs are attached. “And you’ve already been there more than a few times. You know it’s unimpressive. Hold this for me, and I’ll teach you.”
I’m not sure how much teaching he can really do, but he has me hold the mirror in place as he screws it in.
“I like wood carving too,” he says quietly, as if he’s whispering secrets rather than talking about hobbies. “I’ve been alone for a long time. Had to find ways to pass the time.”
His gaze lifts to meet mine, and there’s something more behind it, but I can’t keep looking there, can’t keep reading in. He’s lonely. Like me. Like everyone I love.
And everyone who leaves.
Wind blows through the room even with the windows closed, and my curtains ruffle. The house is weighing in on the conversation, though I don’t know what she’s saying.
“Do you want to stay the night?” I ask gently.
He doesn’t want to be alone. I can’t give him what he says he wants, but I can distract him; that’s all I’ve ever been good for.
Once the mirror is screwed on tightly, he steps away, looking me up and down, his expression somber. “Not tonight.”
He leans in and kisses me on the forehead, lingering there. His warmth and musk wrap around me, and I want to lean into it or pull him closer, keep him with me.
Instead, I let him leave, knowing I want him in my bed. I want him to kiss me for real. I don’t want to say goodbye to him. But getting too close? That’s the quickest way to lose someone.
Maybe this is what I deserve. A night alone with the rattling of the haunted walls to keep me company.
