“You’ll pass,” I say.
Silence again. I can’t stand it. I just want things to be normal.
I don’t even know what normal is. I don’t think I’ve ever had normal with Paige.
She went from being Jason’s kid sister who didn’t care about my existence to Jason’s kid sister who had a crush on me.
And now, she’s a woman. She’s a woman I can’t stop thinking about. Can’t stop remembering the feel of her under my hands, the taste of her skin against my tongue. The way she squeezed me tight when I was inside her. The way she said my name in that throaty cry.
“I measured this wall six times,” she says, startling me. “I still thought I was going to puke when the fridge hit the threshold.”
It takes a moment for me to catch up to her.
“You measured right,” I finally say. “The jamb was the liar.”
“The jamb,” she repeats. “Exactly. The jamb screwed up. Not me.”
One corner of my mouth tilts in a smile.
“I’ve been—” I start, and stop. Do not say I’ve been walking past your window like a creep. Start over. “It looks good. The whole place.”
Her mouth quirks. “It’s starting to.” She tips her head toward the front. ”They’ll install all this tomorrow and bring some more smaller appliances. I have some more furniture coming in this week. I scoured the thrift stores. Just need to sand and paint, well, most of it.”
“I like what you have so far,” I say. “It works, the mismatched tables and chairs.”
“Thanks,” she says. It’s neutral, but it doesn’t feel like nothing. “Ben.”
I look at her. She looks back. The line between us is a thing we ironed into place and told ourselves not to touch again. I keep my hands hooked in my belt loops anyway.
“Thank you,” she says. “For…all of it. The door, the ramp, the muscle.”
“You’d have figured it out,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says and shrugs. “But not as fast.”
The compliment does things to me that I don’t want to think about, so I settle for a swift exit.
“It’s probably getting busy at the Pint,” I say. “I should get back.”
Her gaze lingers on me a beat. Then she nods. “Right. Thanks again, Ben.”
“Anytime, Paige,” I say.
I push away from the counter, every step toward the door louder in my head than it is on the floor. My boots scuff against her not-so-gleaming tile, and I wonder if she notices, if she’ll think of me later when she sees the faint marks.
At the threshold, I hesitate. I should walk out—clean break, no lingering. But I glance back. She’s still by the counter, arms crossed now, watching the gleaming line of appliances like she’s trying to memorize every bit of it.
“Paige.” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to. She looks up, and for a split second I forget the rules we set. “I’ll be back with a door stop tomorrow.”
She nods, and I tug the door open, step into the late-afternoon light. The air smells like cut grass and fryer oil. I hear Paige start humming behind me as the door clicks shut.
As I walk back toward the Pint, I know two things with bone-deep certainty: Paige’s building something that’s going to shine, and I’m already in so much deeper than I ever wanted to be. And I don’t want to step back.
Chapter Nineteen
Paige
The last of the laughter trails out the door with my brother, my mom, and my dad. Jason slaps the doorframe on his way out, muttering something about “cinnamon roll interest payments” with a grin that hasn’t changed since we were kids.
