Insulated.
Bear had insulated the damn thing.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He finally spoke. “I told you I wouldn’t clean your house. And I didn’t.” His voice was calm, steady, like he knew exactly what she’d been thinking this entire time. “But you needed somewhere warm, somewhere safe. So I worked the problem.”
“I-I…” Her throat was tight, the word barely making it past the lump there.
He exhaled, breath fogging in the cold air. “It’s not perfect, but?—”
“Bear.” Her fingers traced the newly insulated wall, her touch light, reverent.
She could see the changes, feel them. The sturdy foundation beneath her feet, the secure way the windows were set into the wood. It wasn’t just a patch job—it was carefully done. Thoughtfully done.
For her.
She swallowed hard, still unable to form words past the emotion swelling in her chest.
He exhaled, shifting his weight, his boots crunching against the cold grass. “I know you’re not ready to go back into your house. And I know you didn’t want to move in with me. So, this…this is the best I could do.”
Joy turned to him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was locked on the playhouse, like he wasn’t quite sure if what he’d done was enough. Like he was braced for her to reject his offering.
She let her eyes drift back to the structure, her childhood sanctuary now transformed into something more. The outside still looked basically the same, but it was stronger now. A place that could protect her, hold her. A place where she didn’t have to feel so damn exposed.
“I lifted it,” Bear continued, scratching the back of his neck in that way he did when he was uncertain. “So the cold wouldn’t seep up through the floor. Reinforced the roof, too. The insulation’s under the paneling, so it still looks the way it did before.” He glanced at her, searching her face. “I didn’t want to take that away from you.”
Her throat burned with unshed tears. “Bear…”
“There’s power.” He nodded toward a thick, heavy-duty extension cord running toward the house. “You’ll have enough for a hot plate, the microwave. Battery-powered lights are already strung up inside.” He hesitated, then added, “It’s probably a fire hazard, so be careful. But it’s something.”
Joy pressed a hand to her chest, the reality of what he’d done crashing over her like a tidal wave.
Not just fixing something.
Not forcing her to go back into a house that still felt haunted.
Not demanding she take steps she wasn’t ready for.
Instead, he’d met her where she was.
She curled her fingers into the sleeve of her shirt. “You…you really did all this?”
His mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure whether to smile or not. “Yeah. Couldn’t do anything about plumbing,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground. “No running water. Almost got you a porta potty to put out back, but that felt like too much.”
A startled laugh escaped her, unexpected and sharp. “A porta potty?”
He glanced at her, a sheepish smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Figured that was crossing a line.”
She shook her head, pressing her fingers to her mouth to stop another laugh. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the weight of everything pressing in on her at once. But for a second, the absurdity of the situation almost broke through the suffocating tightness in her chest.
Then Bear shifted his stance, running a hand through his dark hair, and his expression turned hesitant—almost uncertain.
“Maybe all of it was an overstep,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Maybe I should’ve?—”
“No.” The word shot out of her before she could think, before she could let herself spiral into the guilt that was already creeping in. She stepped toward him, her hands fisting at her sides. “Bear, this—this isn’t an overstep.”
He tilted his head, watching her, eyes dark and warm and full of a hope he was trying to keep in check.
