I make myself turn back to my work.
But a while later, when I hear the delivery guys arguing, I’m already out of the bar, crossing the space, before my brain catches up to my feet.
The back door of her shop is propped open, sunlight spilling across the scuffed threshold. I stop just before coming into view. One of the delivery guys is swearing, the other is laughing at him, and then—
“Careful!” Paige’s voice, sharp but steady.
And there she is. She’s standing just inside, hair tied up, dust streaking her shoulder like she wiped her hand there without thinking. She’s watching as the men wrestle a massive industrial fridge off the dolly, trying to angle it through the door. The thing’s not budging, the doorframe just an inch too tight, and frustration is rolling off all three of them.
My heart does that thing it always does when I see her: kicks once, hard, like it’s trying to get free.
I should turn around. I should.
Instead, I clear my throat. “Need a hand?”
Her head snaps up. Our eyes meet, and for half a second something flares there, but it’s gone too quickly. Careful as always these days.
“We’ve got it handled,” she says, even though clearly, they don’t.
The delivery guys glance over their shoulders at me, sweat beading on their foreheads. “You know him?” one asks, already angling to pass the work off.
“He’s the landlord,” she mutters. Then, with a sigh, “Yeah. He can help.”
I step in before she can change her mind. The space smells like lemon cleaner and that sweet scent that follows her around. It hits me like it always does—bright, clean, alive.
“Where do you want it?” I ask her, nodding at the fridge.
She gestures toward the far wall, near the counter. “There. Next to the ovens. If it ever makes it through the door.”
I crouch by the frame, eyeing the angle. The problem is the width. It’s just a bit too wide to fit through the frame with the door attached.
“We’ll take the door off,” I say. “We’ll pull the hinge pins and lift it off the frame. You’ll get another inch and a half clear.”
One delivery guy snorts; the other looks like he wants to argue with geometry. Paige just watches me, arms folded, waiting to see if I’m talking out of my ass.
“I’ve got tools next door,” I add. “Two minutes.”
She hesitates, then gives the barest nod. “Fine.”
I jog back through the lot, cut into the Pint’s back hall, and snag the red toolbox off the office shelf. By the time I’m back at her threshold, the delivery guys have the fridge balanced on the lipof the dolly, muttering to each other. I set the box down, flip open the latches, and pull out a flathead and a rubber mallet.
“Hold the slab steady,” I tell them, then kneel, slide the screwdriver under the bottom hinge pin, and give it two clean taps. The pin jumps up in the barrel; I grab it with my fingers and set it in Paige’s outstretched palm before I can think better of the contact. She doesn’t move except to curl her fingers around it.
“Top,” I say, and repeat. The second pin comes easier. I lean my shoulder into the door, lift an inch, then look at the taller mover. “Help me take it straight up and back.”
He nods, grunts, and we lift. The door comes off clean. I walk it ten steps inside, lay it carefully against the wall on a moving blanket.
“Threshold’s still high,” I say, eyeing the metal strip. “You got any Masonite or a spare blanket?”
The shorter guy drags a folded pad from the truck, and we lay it over the threshold to make a ramp. I plant my boots. “Okay. Same pivot as before, but you’ve got the width now. On three.”
We count, tilt, and the fridge rides over the pad, clearing the frame with little to spare. Paige steps back to give us room, her jaw tight, eyes tracking every inch like she’s willing it not to nick her freshly painted trim. We clear the ramp and the thing’s inside. When it settles, the floor sighs a little under the weight. Her breath lets out in a single sharp note.
“Leveling feet?” I ask.
The taller mover taps the box with his boot. “In the bag with the manuals.”
I bite my tongue before I can tell them to grab a level. They know what they’re doing, and I’m not really supposed to be here anyway.
