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Especially when Raven was also making a dessert charcuterie board as he assembled those chairs.
Enough for his family.
Enough for Raven’s friends.
Enough for the illustrious Aunt Pat.
So, while he didn’t know what a dessert charcuterie entailed—though he had seen it was comprised of copious baked goods from the grocery store, Frankie’s shop, and the bakery in town—he did know it would be good.
Andfeed his family, Raven’s friends, and the illustrious Aunt Pat.
All of whom were due to arrive at any moment.
Raven was…nervous. He didn’t know if it was because the masses were ready to descend or because they’d both shared the night before—though the stuffshe’dshared was significantly heavier and more intense than him letting her in on his insecurities.
So, maybe she was uncomfortable being around him now.
Even if they’d reached a tentative peace.
He’d been more than a little shocked when she’d texted that morning, sending him (him!) an SOS call.
But he’d understood it for the olive branch it was and had headed over to her place without hesitation.
Arriving to boxes filling her living room, and a nervous Raven.
“They…um…” She nibbled at her bottom lip. “They were supposed to assemble everything and take away the trash. Instead”—she winced—“I barely got them to bring it in the front door—and that was with me tipping them a hundred dollars cash.” Another wince. “On top of me paying extra delivery fees so it would come on Sunday.”
That pissed him off.
But, considering the boxes were in the living room, and the masses would soon descend, Connor had filed his irritation on her behalf away and had gotten to work.
Half of her garage was now filled with cardboard, but Raven had a couch, two big loveseats, stools at the island, a kitchen table, and three and a half kitchen chairs.
And Raven was still nervous.
Zipping around the kitchen from the island to the food containers, stopping to smell the curtains, the kitchen towels, even the paper napkins shoved into the holder on the counter. “Do you think the drapes smell like smoke? I changed them out, but I feel like they do and—” She dropped them, moved to the napkins, chucking a handful of them in the trash. “Those do too,” she muttered, bringing another wad up to her nose. “I pulled them from the back of the pantry. They have to be old. I should order some.” She snatched up her cell, jabbing at the screen. “And I need more food. Pizza! Or Chinese. Or maybe—”
“Can I speak as your friend?” he asked, tightening the final bolt so she had four kitchen chairs.
She froze, gaze jerking to his. “Is that what we are?”
That blurt would have hurt if he didn’t get what was beneath the question. If he hadn’t heard the note of hope in her words. If he didn’t register the way she was nibbling at her bottom lip, how her eyes had gone wide, as though she couldn’t fathom why he would want that.
Connor set the screwdriver to the side, pushed to his feet and crossed to her, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Isn’t that what we’re moving toward?”
“You should hate me,” she whispered. “Not have heeded my call for furniture assembly.”
But she had called—or texted, anyway.
She’d asked him for help.
And…she’d shared.
“You think you could tell me what you told me, and I would ever have it in me to hate you?”
She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t tell you as a way to excuse my behavior.”
He tugged lightly at those hairs he’d just slipped behind her ear. “You think I don’t know that?”
