NotYourLoveMonkey

PART 14: THE GIRLS

The site had been awake since sunrise, but by mid-morning the rhythm had slowed into something more restless. Not because there wasn’t work to do, but because half the crew kept wandering back to the same spot near the east support column.

The problem column. Fuck.

Joel stood there again now, arms folded, staring at the reinforcement bracket like he might force it into compliance by sheer irritation.

Fourth inspection next week. Fourth. If the man showed up with that clipboard again and shook his head again, Joel was fairly sure someone on this site would commit a felony. And that someone would probably be him.

Tommy crouched near the beam with a tape measure in one hand, studying the metal plate like it had insulted him.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve rebuilt this thing so many times I could do it blindfolded.”

Joel didn’t answer. His eyes drifted toward the gravel entrance to the site again. He checked his watch. Ten-oh-three. You’d said ten. He told himself he wasn’t waiting like a dog at the door… but he absolutely was.

Tommy followed his line of sight for about the fourth time that morning. “She’ll get here.”

Joel grunted. He’d asked you the night before when they realized the inspector’s issue might not actually be the reinforcement itself but the load distribution plate underneath it. You had listened for about thirty seconds before saying you’d swing by the site in the morning and look at it yourself. Which meant now he was standing here like a damn idiot watching the road.

A pickup drove past the site entrance. Not you. Joel exhaled through his nose. Then finally a gray SUV turned slowly off the road and rolled onto the gravel lot.

Tommy didn’t even bother hiding the grin. “Ah.”

Joel tried not to react. He failed immediately.

You stepped out of the driver’s seat, shutting the door with your hip while balancing a thick binder of plans against one arm. The February sun caught briefly in your hair before you tied it back with a quick twist of your fingers.

You paused at the edge of the site, spotting the hard hats hanging on the temporary fence. You grabbed one, shook the dust out of it once, then set it carefully on your head.

Joel felt something in his groin react in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with structural engineering.

It had been almost two years. Two years of waking up beside you, two years of seeing you in the kitchen half asleep making coffee, two years of watching you argue cases in court like you’d been born doing it.

None of that had prepared him for the effect of seeing you walking across a construction site wearing a hard hat and reading structural drawings like it was just another Tuesday.

Tommy stood up slowly beside him. “…You’re staring again.”

Joel didn’t answer. You crossed the gravel lot with easy confidence, boots crunching under your steps. A couple of the guys working near the scaffolding noticed you and straightened up automatically.

“Morning.”

“Morning, Juliet.”

You smiled as you passed them, flipping open the binder and already scanning the plans before you even reached Joel.

When you finally looked up and saw him standing there, something in your expression softened. “Hey.”

Just that. Joel felt it land somewhere right under his ribs. “Hey.”

You stopped close enough that your shoulder brushed his arm, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then you gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Alright,” you said, glancing toward the beam. “Show me the troublemaker.”

Joel gestured toward the reinforcement bracket. “That’s the one the inspector’s obsessed with.”

You crouched immediately beside the column, coat shifting as you leaned forward to examine the steel plate.

Joel crouched with you, pointing to the bracket. “We reinforced this twice already.”

You studied the bolts carefully, comparing them to the plans in the binder. 

“Mm.” You tapped the plate lightly with the tip of your pen. “The reinforcement itself is fine.”

Tommy leaned closer. “Then why does he hate it.”

You flipped a page. “Because he’s looking at the load transfer wrong.”

Joel frowned. “How.”

You pointed at the lower flange. “The compression is traveling along this plate. But if he’s worried about uneven distribution he might argue the secondary plate isn’t high enough to spread the load properly.”

Joel stared at the bracket.

“…You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You traced a line across the drawing. “Move the plate up about two inches and add another anchor bolt here.”

Tommy blinked. “Two inches.”

You nodded. “That should remove the argument.”

Tommy stood up slowly. “We rebuilt half the structure because of two inches.”

You smiled slightly. “Welcome to city inspections.”

You stood then, brushing dust from your hands.

Joel’s brain immediately forgot what you’d been talking about. The hard hat sat slightly crooked on your head now, the bright yellow plastic catching the sunlight while loose strands of hair escaped around it. You pushed one of them back behind your ear absentmindedly while looking down at the plans again.

Joel felt a very specific part of his brain shut off completely. He was thirty-something years old. He had run construction crews for half his life. And apparently all it took to derail him was the woman he was about to marry explaining load distribution while wearing a hard hat.

Tommy noticed the silence beside him. “…You good.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Yep.”

“You don’t sound good.”

“I’m fine.”

You handed the plans back to Joel. “Move the plate, add the bolt, and if the inspector still complains next week I’ll come argue with him myself.”

Tommy lit up. “Oh please do.”

You adjusted the hard hat slightly. “I mean it.”

Joel nodded slowly. “…Alright.”

For a second none of them moved. Then you glanced toward the edge of the site where your car was parked.

“Well,” you said, brushing dust from your hands, “I should get back before someone notices I disappeared for a construction emergency.”

Joel shifted his weight. “I’ll walk you out.”

You didn’t argue. You crossed the site together, gravel crunching under your boots. The noise of drills and hammers faded slightly behind them as you moved toward the parked cars.

You glanced sideways at him. “You’ve been very quiet.”

Joel shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “…Thinkin’.”

“That’s always dangerous.”

He huffed quietly. You reached your car. You stopped beside the driver’s door and pulled the hard hat off, setting it on the hood for a second while you untied your hair. Joel watched you do it. Then he looked away like he hadn’t.

You noticed anyway. “What.”

Joel smirked. “…You comin’ out here like that didn’t help.”

“Like what.”

He gestured vaguely toward the hard hat. “That.”

You blinked, surprised. “The hard hat.”

“Yeah.”

You stared at him for a second. Then a slow smile spread across your face.

“You’re telling me construction equipment turns you on?”

Joel shrugged a shoulder, trying to play it off. “Just sayin’.”

You leaned back lightly against the car door, clearly enjoying this. “Interesting.”

Joel stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. “You walked around that beam talkin’ about load distribution like it was foreplay.”

You laughed. “Joel.”

“I’m serious.”

Your eyes sparkled. “That is deeply concerning.”

Joel took another step closer without really meaning to. “You did it with that hard hat on.”

You tilted your head. “And?”

Joel exhaled slowly. “…And I almost forgot how to do my job.”

That made you laugh again; that soft laugh that always got him right in the chest.

“Well,” you said, nudging him lightly with your shoulder, “I’ll try to be less distracting next time.”

Joel shook his head. “Too late.”

You reached for the car door handle.

“Alright, Miller. Go fix your beam before the inspector ruins your life again.”

Joel didn’t move. You noticed.

“What.”

Joel stepped forward. Then he gently backed you against the side of the car.

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Oh?”

Joel lowered his voice. “…You started it.”

“By doing structural analysis.”

“Exactly.”

You barely had time to laugh before he kissed you. His hand slid to the side of your face as he kissed you like he’d been thinking about it the entire time you’d been walking around the site in that hard hat.

You made a small surprised sound against his mouth, then immediately kissed him back just as hard, grabbing the front of his jacket to steady yourself against the car.

For a moment the job site, the noise, the entire morning disappeared. Joel pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“…Alright.” You were smiling. “That seemed necessary.”

Joel nodded once. “Very.”

You kissed him once more, quick this time. “Go fix the beam.”

Joel finally stepped back. “…Yeah.”

You grabbed the hard hat from the hood and tossed it lightly back toward the fence.

“Try not to get electrocuted while I’m gone.”

“No promises.”

You climbed into the car and pulled the door shut, still smiling.

Joel stood there for a second watching you drive away. Then he turned and walked back toward the site.

The moment he stepped around the stack of lumber, Tommy was leaning against it with the biggest grin Joel had ever seen on a human face. He stopped.

“…What.”

Tommy pushed off the lumber slowly. “Absolutely nothing.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t see anything.”

Tommy nodded. “Oh, I saw plenty.”

Joel rubbed his face. “…Damn it.”

Tommy was still grinning like an idiot. “Buddy.”

Joel sighed. “Yeah.”

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. “Worth it.”

Joel grabbed the drill from the toolbox. “…Move the damn plate.”

***************

The kitchen table had slowly disappeared under colored markers, crumpled papers, and Sarah’s increasingly ambitious plans for her ninth birthday party.

Joel leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, staring down at the page like it was a construction blueprint that had somehow gotten wildly out of hand.

“…Explain to me again why a nine-year-old needs a theme.”

Across the table Sarah gasped. “Dad. Obviously.”

You sat beside her, pen tucked behind your ear, studying the paper with the kind of attention you usually reserved for contracts.

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, tapping the page, “we currently have three strong options.”

Sarah pointed dramatically. “Glow party.”

You nodded. “Solid.”

Sarah moved her finger down. “Movie night party.”

“Also good.”

Then Sarah pointed proudly to the chaotic drawing of a dragon breathing something that looked suspiciously like fire onto stick figures.

“…Dragon kingdom.”

Joel stared at it. “…What.”

Sarah shrugged. “I’ll figure that part out later.”

Tommy, slouched in the chair beside them with a soda in his hand, nodded gravely.

“Dragon kingdom has potential.”

Joel pointed at him without looking. “You are not helping.”

“I’m encouraging imagination.”

You laughed quietly and wrote something on the page.

For a few minutes the kitchen filled with overlapping ideas; scavenger hunts, glow sticks, cake flavors, and whether dragons counted as an educational theme.

Joel mostly watched. Sarah animated and loud, you leaning over the table like this ridiculous birthday planning session mattered as much as a court case. It still got him sometimes, that sight.

You finally leaned back in your chair, stretching slightly.

“Oh,” you said.

Sarah looked up instantly. “What.”

“My dress appointment is next week.”

Sarah’s eyes went wide. “THE dress?”

You smiled. “Maybe the dress.”

Tommy looked between you two. “…Should I be concerned about how dramatic that sounded?”

You laughed. “It just means I’m going wedding dress shopping.”

“Oh.”

Sarah sat up straighter. “I’m coming.”

“You are.”

“And I will give honest feedback.”

Joel muttered under his breath, “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

You bumped his arm with your elbow. “Behave.”

Tommy leaned forward a little. “So who’s going.”

You counted on you fingers. “My mom. Wendy. Sarah.” Then you turned your head toward Tommy. “…Hey.” 

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “What.”

You shrugged casually. “Would Maria want to come too?”

Tommy stared at you. For a second he genuinely looked like someone had unplugged his brain.

“…Really?”

You looked at him like the answer was obvious. “Of course.” You smiled softly. “She’s yours.” Then you added simply, “So she’s ours.”

For a moment Tommy didn’t say anything. Joel watched his brother’s face carefully, saw the way his expression shifted; surprised first, then something quieter, deeper.

Tommy cleared his throat and looked down at his soda for a second.

“…Yeah.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll ask her.”

Sarah leaned across the table immediately. “Yes! More opinions!”

Joel groaned. “God help those poor dresses.”

You laughed again. And the conversation immediately collapsed back into birthday chaos.

Sarah slapped the table suddenly. “Okay. Back to the real problem.”

Joel rubbed his face. “…Which is.”

Sarah pointed dramatically at the page. “The cake.”

Tommy nodded like a man of great wisdom. “Chocolate.”

Joel pointed at him again. “You are absolutely part of the problem.”

****************

Saturday afternoon arrived with the kind of low-grade chaos that seemed to follow any event involving Sarah Miller and excitement.

Joel was halfway through his coffee when the sound of running footsteps shook the hallway.

“Juliet! We’re gonna be late!”

Your voice floated back from upstairs. “We are not going to be late.”

Sarah appeared in the kitchen doorway anyway, already wearing shoes and a jacket like you were leaving for the airport instead of a bridal shop fifteen minutes away.

Joel leaned against the counter. “…You know they’re not gonna run outta dresses.”

Sarah ignored him and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. “Maria’s gonna be there.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She took a dramatic bite. “And I’m gonna help pick.”

Joel looked very unconvinced by that statement.

You finally came downstairs a minute later, adjusting your coat and grabbing your bag from the chair.

Joel watched you cross the kitchen, still slightly amazed that someone could look that good just running errands. You leaned down and kissed his cheek in passing.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

Joel snorted. “No promises.”

Sarah grabbed your sleeve and started pulling toward the door.

“Come on!”

You laughed as you let yourself be dragged. “Okay, okay.”

At the door you paused, glancing back at Joel and Tommy. “We’ll meet Maria there.”

Tommy nodded. “Alright.”

You gave Joel one more quick look; the kind that carried about six different meanings, then Sarah hauled you out the door.

A moment later the truck started, and then the house went quiet. Joel stood there for a second, listening to the sound fade down the street.

Tommy leaned back against the counter beside him. “…Weird.”

Joel took another sip of coffee. “What.”

“House without Sarah noise.”

Joel nodded slowly. “…Peaceful.”

Tommy chuckled. For a few seconds they just stood there. Then he rubbed his forehead.

“…Hey.”

Joel glanced at him. “What.”

Tommy shrugged a little, like he was trying to play it off casual. “That thing Juliet said the other night.”

Joel waited.

Tommy looked down at the counter for a second. “About Maria.”

Joel understood immediately. “…Yeah.”

Tommy exhaled through his nose. “I dunno.”

Joel leaned one hip against the counter. “What.”

Tommy scratched his jaw. “…Just didn’t expect that.”

Joel studied him quietly.

Tommy went on, still looking at the floor. “I mean… I know she likes Maria. I just-” He gestured vaguely. “Didn’t think she’d… include her like that.”

Joel nodded once. “She does that.”

Tommy looked up. “What.”

Joel shrugged. “She decides someone’s family.”

Tommy snorted softly. “…Yeah.”

They were quiet again for a moment. Tommy added, a little quieter,

“It means a lot.”

Joel nodded slowly. “Figured.”

Tommy leaned back against the counter again. “I mean hell… wedding dress shopping?” He shook his head with a small laugh. “That’s serious territory.”

Joel smirked slightly. “Don’t let Sarah hear you say that.”

Tommy chuckled. Then he looked toward the door where Juliet and Sarah had left. 

“…She really did just say ‘she’s yours so she’s ours.’”

Joel nodded again. “Yeah.”

Tommy shook his head slowly, still half amazed. “…That woman’s dangerous.”

Joel smiled faintly into his coffee. “Tell me about it.”

By the time the front door opened later, Joel had already heard Sarah’s voice from outside.

Not words at first; just the unmistakable sound of her talking too fast for anyone to answer properly, which usually meant she had been excited for at least the last ten minutes and had not yet found a reason to stop.

He looked up from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter while Tommy finished whatever he was saying about work, and a second later Sarah came through the door first, hair slightly messy, eyes bright in that dangerous way that meant she was carrying information she had promised not to reveal.

Behind her came Maria, laughing softly at something Sarah had said, and then you, who closed the door carefully behind them and slipped out of your coat.

Joel noticed you before anything else. Not because you said anything. Because you looked… quietly lit from somewhere inside. That particular softness you got when something had gone better than you had expected and you were still settling into it.

Sarah made it halfway into the room before stopping herself from blurting whatever had clearly been waiting at the front of her mouth. Her hands clasped together instead.

Joel lifted an eyebrow. “That look usually means trouble.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Sarah replied immediately, which was not an answer to what he had said.

Tommy snorted. “Yet.”

Maria hung her coat by the door like she already knew where things belonged, which these days she did.

You crossed into the kitchen more slowly, setting your bag down on the chair.

Joel watched you for another second. Then he said: “You found it.”

It was not really a question. You looked up at him and smiled; smaller than Sarah’s excitement, steadier.

“Yeah.” A breath left you like you still half couldn’t believe it yourself. “I really thought I’d come back more confused than this.”

Joel shifted his weight, still watching you. “No drama?”

“Oh, there was drama,” Maria said.

Sarah nodded immediately. “Annie cried!”

“Very briefly,” you corrected, amused. Then you looked back at Joel. “I thought I’d need another appointment. Honestly. I tried a few, and some were beautiful, but…” you shrugged lightly, searching for the right way to put it. “One of them just felt right.”

There was something in the way you said it that made Joel smile before he meant to. Simple certainty. No performance. Exactly you.

You leaned one hip lightly against the counter. “It was five hundred under budget, but apparently that didn’t matter because my mother had already decided the dress was her gift.”

Tommy gave a low whistle. “Well that’s a win all around.”

“She didn’t even let me argue,” you said.

Maria smiled. “She announced it like a verdict.”

“That sounds like Annie,” Joel said.

“It really did.”

Sarah, who had been visibly suffering through this adult part of the conversation, finally burst: “And I got mine too!”

Joel looked at her. “Your what.”

“My flower girl dress.”

That pulled his attention back immediately. You gave him a look that admitted you knew exactly how that sounded.

“It happened.”

Joel frowned. “You were gone one afternoon.”

“It was efficient,” Maria said, with complete seriousness.

Tommy laughed under his breath. “Dangerous word in this house.”

Sarah tried to stay composed another second before failing.

“I’m not saying anything,” she added quickly. “But it spins.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly. “Of course it spins.”

That finally made you laugh properly, and Joel felt it, that little shift in the room when your laugh came easy and stayed.

Maria had already moved toward the cabinet. “Coffee?”

“Please,” you said.

“Hot chocolate,” Sarah added instantly.

Tommy looked offended. “You even askin’ like there was another answer.”

Joel moved closer then, almost without thinking, his hand settling briefly at your back. You leaned into it automatically.

“You happy?” he asked quietly.

This time your smile changed again, less amused now, more real.

“Yeah,” you said. “More than I expected.”

And because he knew you well enough by now, Joel understood exactly what that meant: that sometime during fittings and mirrors and your mother getting emotional and Sarah talking nonstop and Maria laughing beside them… it had stopped being planning again. And become real.

Maria was already reaching for the mugs when Sarah climbed onto one of the stools, still holding herself unnaturally straight, as if discipline alone might keep the secret of both dresses inside her. It was not working particularly well.

“Hot chocolate,” she reminded everyone, as though there had been any danger of forgetting.

“You say that like somebody was fixin’ to give you coffee,” Tommy said.

Sarah looked at him with aversion. “Coffee is disgusting.”

Tommy pressed a hand to his chest. “Now that’s hurtful.”

Maria smiled while filling the kettle. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Sarah accepted that as important information, then swung one foot against the stool and looked at Maria again.

“You’re really coming, right?”

Maria turned. “To what?”

“My birthday.”

Joel looked up. “Your birthday?”

Sarah blinked. “Well yes. My birthday.”

You laughed softly beside him. “She invited Maria in the car.”

“I did it properly,” Sarah said at once. “I asked.”

Maria leaned one shoulder against the counter. “It was very official.”

Tommy frowned. “And nobody told me.”

Sarah looked genuinely confused. “You’re coming too.”

Tommy gave Joel a look. “Good to know I still make the guest list.”

“You always make the guest list,” Sarah said, as if that were obvious. Then, after a beat: “Unless you’re mean.”

Tommy put a hand over his heart. “Wow.”

Maria tried not to laugh.

Joel looked at Sarah. “How many people you invitin’ this year?”

Sarah started counting immediately on her fingers, lips moving while she worked through it.

“Emma. Chloe. Maddie. Sophie. Liz. Anna. Maybe Noah.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Maybe?”

Sarah made a face. “He touched the cake last year before we sang.”

Tommy nodded solemnly. “Unacceptable.”

“It was gross,” Sarah said.

You leaned into the counter. “We are not having half your class here.”

“It’s not half,” Sarah protested. “It’s like ten...”

Sarah accepted her hot chocolate with both hands. Then she looked at Joel, eyes narrowing a little.

“You’re not working that day, right?”

Joel frowned. “No.”

“Good.”

Tommy leaned back. “She runs this house now.”

Joel snorted. “Been that way awhile.”

Sarah ignored him completely, already drinking her chocolate and clearly reliving the afternoon again because a smile crept back over her face without warning.

You noticed too. “What is it.”

Sarah looked at you and visibly struggled not to say too much. “Nothing.”

Tommy pointed. “That face means definitely something.”

Sarah squirmed on the stool. “I just still can’t believe we found it.”

This time you smiled differently: “Yeah,” you said, almost to yourself. “Me neither.”

And Joel, with his hand still resting lightly against your back, felt that same small warmth settle again when he looked at you. Because you said it exactly the way someone did when happiness had arrived a little larger than expected. And was still settling in.

Later, the house had finally gone quiet. It happened the way it always did now: gradually, in layers.

First Sarah upstairs, after remembering at the very last second that she needed to ask you something before sleep; something apparently urgent enough to pull her back out of bed in socks and blanket, only to turn out to be whether flower girls were allowed to wear lip gloss “if it’s not too shiny.”

Then Tommy and Maria leaving together at the door, Sarah shouting goodnight again from upstairs because apparently one goodnight had not covered it. Then the kitchen lights off. The last mug rinsed. The house settling.

Joel was already in bed by the time you came upstairs, the room lit only by the bedside lamp and the low amber spill from the hallway behind you.

You closed the door quietly, slipped out of your cardigan, and for a second just stood there undoing your earrings, still thoughtful in that way you had been on and off all evening.

Joel watched you. Not openly enough to earn comment. Just enough that when you finally looked over, you caught it anyway.

“What.”

“Nothin’.”

You gave him a look that said you knew perfectly well that was a lie, then crossed the room and slid under the blankets. The mattress dipped.

A second later you turned instinctively toward him, fitting yourself against him with the ease of repetition, one leg brushing his, one arm slipping across his middle before he even moved.

Joel lifted his arm and you tucked yourself properly into it, head against his chest, the familiar weight of you settling there until his hand found your back almost automatically.

Peaceful silence settled. The quiet hum of the house. Your breathing slowly evening out after the day. Then Joel’s fingers moved lightly along your shoulder.

“You happy about the dress?”

He felt your smile before you answered. “Yeah.”

Simple. Honest. His hand kept moving once, slowly, along your back.

“Real happy?”

That earned a small laugh against his shirt. “Why are you asking like it’s an inspection.”

“Answer the question.”

You shifted slightly, lifting your chin just enough to look at him in the half-light.

“I am.” Then your expression softened, not playful now. “I didn’t expect it to hit me like that.”

Joel waited. Because you clearly had more.

You let out a breath and looked back down, fingertips tracing absent lines against his shirt. “I thought it would feel nice, maybe emotional because my mother was there, because Sarah was so excited…” you paused, searching. “But when I put the one on…”

Joel’s hand stilled.

And when you spoke again, your voice had changed just enough that he felt it immediately. “…I could see it.”

He frowned slightly. “See what.”

Your fingers stopped moving. You stayed quiet for a second, then said it very softly: “Myself. Walking toward you.”

That landed somewhere deep and immediate. So quietly that for a second Joel did not answer, because his chest had tightened before he could stop it.

You stayed where you was, not looking up now, maybe because saying it aloud had embarrassed you a little.

“In the church,” you added after a moment, almost apologetically. “I could actually picture it.”

Joel swallowed once. His hand resumed moving, slower now. He looked up toward the dark ceiling for a second before back down at your hair against his chest.

And when he spoke, his voice came rougher than before: “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.” Then you added, quieter still: “And suddenly it wasn’t fabric anymore.”

That made him close his eyes briefly. Because he understood exactly what you meant. Not fabric. Not appointments. Not lists.

The moment it stopped being preparation and became something real enough to feel in the body. He bent his head slightly and pressed a kiss into your hair.

Then Joel spoke into the quiet.

“I think about that more than I should.”

You tilted her head just enough. “What part?”

“You, walkin’ toward me.”

That made you lift your face again. There was something vulnerable in the way you looked at him now, softened by the dark.

Joel gave the smallest shrug, uncomfortable only because it was true.

“Been thinkin’ about it since I decided I wanted it.”

You smiled faintly. “Well,” you murmured, settling closer again, “now I know what I’m picturing too.”

Joel tightened his arm around you. And because suddenly words felt dangerous in the way they sometimes did when too much meaning gathered too quickly, he just kissed your forehead and held you there until the quiet came back.

This time softer. Fuller. Like the room itself knew June had stepped a little closer tonight.

***************

By April, the wedding had settled into your lives the same way everything important eventually did: not as a constant event, but as something that surfaced in ordinary moments and then disappeared again beneath the rest of life.

A call from the florist while Joel was trying to find a missing screwdriver. You writing something about seating arrangements in the margin of a grocery list because Sarah had suddenly needed the pen for homework. Sarah asking, with complete seriousness, whether flower girls were allowed to smile or if it was supposed to look serious ‘because churches are serious’.

Most days still felt normal. Work still started early. Dinner still needed making. Laundry still appeared in impossible quantities. Sarah still forgot things upstairs after already putting shoes on. And maybe that was why the whole thing still felt manageable. It was happening, yes. But it had not swallowed the house.

Two Fridays earlier, Tommy had insisted Joel was not getting married without at least one proper evening that counted as his side of the ritual, which had earned him an immediate look from Joel because “ritual” sounded suspiciously expensive and unnecessary.

In the end it had happened at Tommy’s place, which made more sense than anywhere else because Tommy’s tiny rented house had a small terrace, an old grill, and exactly enough room for too many folding chairs.

Nothing fancy. Just smoke from the grill, cards on the patio table, a cooler full of drinks, and men Joel had known long enough that silence with them never needed filling.

Tommy, obviously. Mark, Luis, Aaron and Peter from work; all four loud in completely different ways once beer appeared. Jimmy Carver, who had worked with Joel long before half the others and still insisted on shuffling cards like he was cheating even when he wasn’t. Ray Nolan, an old friend from high school. 

Eight men in total. Enough that the terrace stayed noisy without ever tipping into chaos.

Tommy had burned the first batch of sausages because he kept talking while flipping them. Aaron and Peter had nearly started an argument over baseball that lasted forty minutes. Mark lost twenty dollars to Frank-level stubbornness from Jimmy and accused everyone at the table of conspiring against him. Joel mostly sat, played, drank slowly, and let the noise happen around him.

At one point Tommy had leaned back in his chair, looked around the table, and announced to nobody in particular:

“Still don’t know how he pulled it off.”

Luis had looked up from his cards. “What.”

Tommy jerked his chin toward Joel. “Getting Juliet Harper to voluntarily marry him.”

Aaron snorted. “Man barely speaks before coffee.”

Peter added, “Looks permanently annoyed.”

Joel did not even lift his eyes from his hand. “Keep talkin’.”

Ray raised his bottle. “To women with mysterious judgment.”

That had earned enough laughter that even Joel gave up pretending he disliked the attention. Not because he enjoyed speeches. But because somewhere between Tommy refilling plates, Mike telling a story Joel had forgotten, and Mark asking practical questions about the church as though construction permits somehow applied to weddings, he had looked around and realized something that still caught him off guard sometimes: these were his people now.

Not many. But enough. Enough that going home later that night, smelling like smoke and grilled meat, had felt unexpectedly full in the chest.

He had found you asleep on the couch when he came in, one lamp still on, Sarah curled against your side because apparently bedtime had collapsed during a movie. And that had felt like the exact right end to the evening.

This Saturday afternoon had none of that noise. Just sunlight through the living room windows, the television on low, and you stretched along one end of the couch with a book you had stopped reading several pages ago.

Sarah was upstairs, supposedly cleaning her room, though the more than occasional singing suggested very little actual cleaning. Joel sat nearby in the armchair, one boot off, the other halfway there, enjoying the unusual quiet more than he intended to admit.

You turned a page you clearly had not read and said, without looking up: “If this baseball game is putting you to sleep, you can admit it.”

Joel glanced at you. “It ain’t the game.”

“No?”

“Nothin’ in this house has exploded in almost twenty minutes.”

That made you laugh softly. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

He did. For exactly another thirty seconds. Then the doorbell rang. Once. Then again, followed immediately by voices outside; female voices, too many of them, already laughing.

You looked up first, mildly puzzled rather than suspicious.

“Are we expecting someone?”

Joel frowned in the most convincing way he could manage. “No.”

You set the book down, still unsuspecting, and stood just as the front door opened without waiting for invitation.

Wendy came in first with the confidence of someone who had decided knocking was merely ceremonial.

Maria followed, smiling openly now, and behind them came the rest of your gang, so confusion lasted exactly one second before understanding arrived.

You stopped in the middle of the room.

“Oh no.”

Wendy pointed straight at you. “Oh yes.”

Maria lifted a hand in greeting. “Hi.”

You looked from one face to the next, then finally at Joel. He stayed seated just long enough to enjoy the exact second you understood.

“You knew.”

He pulled the second boot off slowly. “I was told to stay outta the way.”

“You’re involved.”

“Barely.”

Wendy laughed. “He provided alibi and location. That counts.”

You folded your arms, already smiling despite yourself. “This is an ambush.”

“This,” Wendy corrected, stepping further inside, “is a carefully organized, deeply respectful bachelorette.”

“No nonsense,” Maria added.

“No tiaras,” said Wendy.

“No strangers,” added Liz.

You looked at Joel again. And because you still had not fully decided whether to be annoyed or amused, he finally stood and crossed the room toward you.

“Quiet afternoon was never gonna survive anyway.”

That tipped it. The smile came properly then, reluctant but real. 

And once it did, Wendy clapped once and said: “Good. Jacket. Shoes. Move.”

From upstairs Sarah’s voice rang immediately: “WHAT’S HAPPENING?”

And Joel already knew the next ten minutes were about to get loud again.

You looked over one shoulder toward Joel as you let herself be pushed forward.

“This feels excessive already.”

“You haven’t seen excessive yet,” Wendy said.

“That sentence is deeply concerning.”

Sarah reached the bottom of the stairs just in time to see the entire group moving toward the front door.

“Where you going?”

You turned just enough to answer. “Apparently being kidnapped.”

Sarah gasped in delight. “Can I come?”

Six adult voices answered at once: “No.”

That did not seem to offend her nearly as much as Joel expected. Instead she ran straight to the doorway behind them to witness whatever came next.

Joel followed more slowly, hands in his pockets, already enjoying the exact way you were still trying to keep some authority over a situation you had very clearly lost.

The late afternoon sun was still bright, warm enough now that the air carried real spring in it, and for one second you stepped out onto the porch still talking. Then you stopped. Completely.

At the curb, absurd in full daylight and entirely unapologetic about it, sat a long pink limousine. Not elegant pink. Not subtle. Bright, unmistakable, impossible pink.

You stared. Then turned slowly toward Wendy.

“No.”

Wendy folded her arms, triumphant. “Oh, yes.”

Maria had already given up trying not to laugh.

“You said low drama,” you said, still staring at the thing like it might disappear if you blinked.

“It is low drama,” Wendy replied. “It’s just pink.”

“One of those words means something very different to you than to normal people.”

Sarah was nearly vibrating now. “Oh my God.”

Joel stayed one step back on purpose, because from here he could see all of it; you caught between disbelief and laughter, Maria already helping Jane with the door, Wendy looking as proud as if she had personally negotiated world peace through transportation.

Then Zoey reached into a bag and produced the sash. Pink, naturally. With silver letters. BRIDE TO BE.

You looked horrified. “No, no, no.”

Wendy stepped forward immediately. “Yes.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“You said no tiaras, you said nothing about sashes, so you’re wearing that.”

Joel finally laughed, properly, because the expression you gave him then was pure accusation. “You knew about this too?”

“No ma’am,” he said, enjoying himself far too much now. “That part I would’ve remembered.”

Maria held the sash open. “Come on. It’s mandatory.”

“It is not mandatory anywhere.”

“It is today.”

Sarah, from beside Joel, whispered reverently: “This is amazing.”

You looked at her. “You are enjoying this too much.”

“A lot.”

In the end, resistance lasted maybe ten more seconds. Mostly because there were too many hands involved.

When Wendy finally got the sash across your shoulder, you looked down at herself like you had become someone else entirely.

“This is humiliating.”

“No,” Maria said calmly, “this is your bachelorette.”

Joel leaned against the porch rail, smiling openly now because he had not seen you this outnumbered in a long time. And because despite all your protests, you were laughing. Still wide-eyed, still shaking your head, but laughing.

The limo door opened. Inside, the rear section looked like a small upholstered room on wheels, curved seating all around, six places ready, chilled bottles already waiting.

You looked inside and stopped again. “You rented an actual limo.”

Wendy raised an eyebrow. “What did you think we were doing.”

You turned once more toward Joel, still standing there with Sarah beside him. There was something helpless and amused in the look you gave him now, like you had accepted fully that this day no longer belonged to you.

Joel shrugged lightly. “Looks like you’re busy.”

That earned him the smile he had been waiting for. The softer one beneath the chaos. Then you stepped down from the porch, crossed back the two steps you had just taken away, and kissed him quickly but firmly, fingers catching his shirt for half a second.

When you pulled back, you looked up at him. “If they bring me back covered in glitter, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair.”

Then you finally climbed in. Maria followed you first, then Wendy, then the others, until all seven women disappeared into the bright pink absurdity like it was the most natural thing in Texas.

Sarah stood at the edge of the porch waving as if someone were departing for war. “Bye!”

The tinted window lowered just enough for you to lean toward it, sash visible now across your chest, hair catching the light, still looking faintly unconvinced by your own life.

“Don’t let your father order too much pizza!”

“I heard that,” Joel said.

The window slid back up. A second later the limo pulled away slowly from the curb, absurdly pink in full sunlight, carrying six women, one reluctant bride, and enough laughter that Joel could still hear it even after the car had reached the corner.

Sarah turned toward him immediately. “That was incredible.”

Joel watched until the limo disappeared.

Then, still smiling to himself, he said: “Yeah.”

It really had been.

************

It was a little after three in the morning when Joel heard the front door open. Not loudly, just enough noise to wake him because the house, at that hour, amplified everything.

A muffled laugh came first. Then someone whispering what was very clearly not an effective whisper.

“No, shhh, Sarah’s asleep-”

“That was you talking loud-”

Another laugh.

Then the front door closing carefully, followed by footsteps in the hallway and one final burst of hushed chaos before voices dropped again.

Joel lay still for a second, staring at the ceiling, already awake enough to know exactly what he was hearing.

A moment later the bedroom door opened. You came in with one hand still on the frame as if the room needed a second to settle before you entered it properly.

Your shoes were in one hand, the pink sash gone, hair looser than when you had left, lipstick softened, cheeks warm from the night and just enough alcohol to make your eyes brighter than usual.

Behind her, Maria’s voice came softly from the hallway: “We got her upstairs alive.”

Then Wendy: “That’s friendship.”

You turned halfway and whispered back, with total seriousness: “I was never in danger.”

The door closed. Silence. Then you looked toward the bed and found Joel awake, propped slightly against the pillow now, one eyebrow raised.

“Well,” he said quietly, voice rough with sleep, “you survived.”

You smiled in that delayed, slightly dreamy way that told him immediately you were not drunk-drunk, but comfortably past sober.

“Barely.”

You put the shoes down. When they made noise, you shushed them loudly.

Joel watched you for another second. “You alright?”

“I have one very important thing to tell you.”

That tone alone made him sit up a little more. “Do you?”

You nodded solemnly and crossed the room with exaggerated care, climbing onto the mattress more by instinct than balance until you reached him and settled half across his lap, one knee sliding over the blanket. Very determined. Very soft around the edges.

Joel caught you automatically by the waist before you tipped sideways.

You placed both hands on his shoulders and looked at him with extraordinary seriousness. “Your peepee…”

Joel closed his eyes immediately. “…Jesus Christ.”

“…is the only peepee I ever want to see for the rest of my life.”

That earned a full laugh out of him before he could stop it. Quiet enough not to wake the house, but real.

You stayed completely serious. “In my whole life.”

“Glad we cleared that up.”

“No, listen.”

“I’m listenin’.”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice as if delivering legal testimony. “It’s the best one.”

Joel looked at you. “The best one.”

“The very best.” You nodded firmly. “Also you’re the best sex of my whole entire life, baby. By a long shot.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “You had tequila.”

“Several.”

“I can tell.”

You frowned slightly, offended that he might underestimate the sincerity of the statement.

“I’m being very honest.”

“Dangerously honest.”

You leaned in and kissed him then, with surprising accuracy considering the circumstances. At first it was soft, warm, lingering. Then you tried very clearly to deepen it, fingers catching at his neck, shifting closer with determined intent. 

Joel let you for a moment because honestly the effort alone was impossible not to appreciate. Your hand slid to his jaw, then lower, and for about thirty seconds you managed a very convincing attempt at seduction.

Enough that he actually kissed you back properly, one hand at your waist, the other brushing your hair back as you half climbed further onto him. Then, mid-kiss, your rhythm changed. Not gradually. Abruptly. Your head dropped against his shoulder.

Joel waited. Nothing. 

Then came the softest half-murmured: “…still the best…”

He looked down. You were asleep. Actually asleep. One arm still around his neck, breathing already slow and even.

Joel stared for one second. Then laughed again under his breath, quieter this time.

“Unbelievable.”

Carefully, so carefully, he shifted you enough to get you under the blanket without waking you, easing you down beside him until you curled automatically into his side like youhad intended that all along.

Even asleep, you found him immediately, hand resting against his chest.

Joel looked down at you in the dark, still smiling despite himself. Then bent and kissed your hair once.

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PART 13: THE COUNTDOWN

Sunday morning arrived far too soon. Joel woke slowly, the way someone does when their body is exhausted but their mind hasn’t caught up yet. For a moment he didn’t move. Just lay there, half buried under the blanket, staring at the pale winter light creeping through the edge of the curtains.

Something warm was pressed against his chest. You. Your hair was spread across the pillow, one arm thrown lazily over his stomach, your leg tangled with his under the sheets like you had no intention of letting him go anywhere.

Joel let out a quiet breath. His entire body ached. Not the bad kind. The kind that came from too little sleep and a very enthusiastic celebration the night before.

He closed his eyes again for a second. And then the thought hit him. My fiancée.

Joel opened one eye. That word still felt strange in his head. He looked down at your hand resting against his chest. The ring caught a thin beam of sunlight and flashed faintly. Still there. Still real.

He felt something warm settle low in his chest. My fiancée.

You stirred slightly, your nose brushing against the fabric of his T-shirt as you shifted closer without waking up.

Joel smiled faintly. You two had barely slept. Between the adrenaline of the night, the laughter when you got home, the excitement… and then finally being alone together upstairs… Joel rubbed a tired hand over his face. Yeah. Sleep had not been the priority.

He glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. Too early for a Sunday. He carefully shifted his arm, trying not to wake you… when the bedroom door burst open.

“CAN I TELL PEOPLE NOW?!”

Joel closed his eyes. Of course. Sarah stood in the doorway in full morning energy mode, hair messy, pajamas crooked, practically vibrating with excitement.

You jolted awake beside him. “What-?”

Sarah marched halfway into the room. “Can I tell people? Can I tell Anna? And Lily? And Mrs. Hernandez? And-”

“Sarah,” Joel groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “It’s eight in the mornin’ sweetheart.”

You blinked slowly, still waking up. Then you noticed Sarah. And then the ring. And you smiled again immediately.

“Oh.”

Sarah bounced in place. “Can I tell people now?!”

Joel turned his head toward you, voice rough with sleep. “You started this.”

You laughed softly and buried your face in his shoulder for a second. Joel felt the vibration of it against his chest.

Sarah climbed onto the bed like a small unstoppable force. “So?!”

You sat up slightly, still wrapped in the blanket. “I think,” you said, smiling at Sarah, “we can tell people.”

Sarah gasped, then launched off the bed again like a rocket. “I’M TELLING EVERYONE!”

Her footsteps thundered down the hallway. The bedroom door slammed. Silence returned.

You slowly leaned back against the pillow. Joel looked over at you. You stared at each other for a second. Then started laughing.

Joel rubbed his face again. “…I’m exhausted.”

You smirked. “That’s your fault.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “My fault?”

You gestured vaguely at him. “You’re the one who kept saying ‘one more.’”

Joel huffed. “Didn’t hear you complain.”

Your grin widened as you held up your hand again, admiring the ring in the morning light. “Nope.”

Joel watched you for a moment. Then shook his head, still half in disbelief. My fiancée.

****************

The first few days after the engagement felt… strange. Joel woke up Monday morning half expecting the whole thing to feel like something that had happened to somebody else. But then you would walk into the kitchen with your hair still messy from sleep, reaching for coffee, and the ring would catch the morning light… And the word would show up again in his head. Fiancée. It still felt unfamiliar. But every time he thought it, something quiet and steady settled in his chest.

The news traveled fast. Too fast. Sarah had clearly taken her role as official town crier very seriously. But Tommy? Tommy didn’t even pretend to be discreet. By the time Joel got to the jobsite Monday morning, the word had already spread. He knew the second he stepped out of the truck.

Three guys standing near the framing looked at him and immediately started grinning. One of them elbowed the other.

“Well, well, well.”

Joel frowned slightly. “…What.”

Another one laughed. “Congratulations, man.”

Joel stared at him. “…For what.”

That’s when Tommy’s voice came from behind the stack of lumber. “For getting engaged, dumbass.”

Joel turned slowly. Tommy was leaning against a beam with the most satisfied look Joel had ever seen. Joel stared at him.

“You told everybody.”

Tommy shrugged. “You told me.”

“That was two days ago.”

“Yeah.”

Joel dragged a hand down his face. “…Unbelievable.”

Someone from the scaffolding called down, “About time, Miller!”

Another voice added, “When’s the wedding?!”

Joel shook his head and kept walking toward the tool table. “Slow down.”

One of the guys clapped him on the back. “Seriously though, congratulations.”

Joel nodded once. “…Thanks.”

The teasing didn’t really stop all morning. Everywhere he went someone had a comment.

“So she finally said yes, huh?”

“Took you long enough.”

“You nervous yet?”

Joel answered most of it with a grunt or a shrug. But the small smile that kept sneaking onto his face gave him away anyway. Because every time someone said it, the same image flashed through his head.

You standing in the headlights of the truck. Eyes wide. Tears on your cheeks. Yes.

By midweek the news had clearly reached the school too. Joel found that out Wednesday afternoon when he picked Sarah up.

Leanne stood near the gate with a few other parents. She noticed him immediately. Her eyes flicked over him.

Joel gave her a polite nod. “…Leanne.”

She smiled. Tight. Very tight. “Congratulations,” she said.

Joel nodded once. “…Thank you.”

Leanne smirked slightly. “Well,” she added lightly, “that was… quick.”

Joel shrugged. “Seemed like the right time.”

She didn’t respond. Just watched him. Then Sarah came barreling out of the school doors like a rocket.

“Dad!”

She ran straight into him, nearly knocking the breath out of his lungs. Joel caught her automatically.

“Easy.”

She grabbed his hand and started walking toward the truck with him, already talking. “Emma says weddings have like huge cakes and sometimes chocolate fountains and can we have one and can I pick the music and-”

Joel glanced down at her. “…You been discussin’ my wedding at school.”

Sarah didn’t even try to deny it. “Well yeah.”

Behind them, Leanne’s smile had gone even tighter. Joel opened the truck door.

“…Unbelievable.”

The rest of the week passed in a quiet kind of happiness Joel still wasn’t used to. You worked late some evenings. Sarah filled the house with noise. And sometimes Joel would catch you absentmindedly turning the ring on your finger while you read something.

Saturday afternoon arrived before Joel had really thought about anything beyond that. You were all in the kitchen when Tommy leaned back against the counter, sipping a soda.

Joel was rinsing something in the sink. You sat at the table trying to revive a suspiciously brown plant. Sarah was drawing something that looked suspiciously like a wedding dress.

Tommy looked around the room casually. “So,” he said.

You glanced up. “So what.”

Tommy nodded toward you both. “How’s the wedding planning comin’ along.”

Joel turned slowly from the sink. “…The what.”

You blinked. “Our wedding?”

Tommy grinned. “Yeah. That one.”

Joel stared at him. “We got engaged like a week ago.”

Tommy shrugged. “Still.”

You laughed softly and leaned back in your chair. “We haven’t planned anything yet.”

Tommy nodded thoughtfully. “Fair.” Then he added, “But y’all should probably start thinkin’ about it.”

Joel looked at you. You looked back at him. Then both of you looked at Tommy.

“…You’re enjoying this,” Joel said.

Tommy’s grin was still firmly in place. “Oh yeah.”

You shook your head, amused, but after a moment you set your papers aside and leaned back slightly in the chair.

“Well…” you said slowly. “We probably should talk about a couple things. The big things.”

Joel dried his hands on a dish towel and turned toward you. “Like what.”

You glanced at him, thoughtful. “For starters… the timeline.”

Sarah’s head popped up instantly from her drawing. “Timeline?”

You nodded. “I, for one, don’t want a long engagement.”

Joel tilted his head. “How long’s ‘long’.”

“My friend Lisa was engaged for almost two years. Claire did eighteen months.”

Joel made a face. “Jesus.”

“Exactly,” you said. “I personally don’t want that.” You looked at him again, a little tentative. “I think six months is plenty.”

Joel considered that for about half a second. “…Yeah.”

You blinked. “That was easy.”

Joel shrugged. “We already live together. We already know what we’re doin’.”

You smiled softly. “That was my thinking.”

Sarah had been listening with increasing excitement. “Six months?!”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Sarah shook her head rapidly, happy. “That’s soon!”

Tommy snorted into his soda. “Kid’s ready.”

You laughed, then grew thoughtful again. “Okay,” you said. “Next question.”

Joel leaned his hip against the counter. “Shoot.”

You hesitated for a second. “…Do you want a wedding wedding?”

Joel frowned slightly. “What’s that mean.”

“I mean…” you gestured vaguely. “A big one. Ceremony, guests, the whole thing.”

Joel didn’t answer right away.

You continued, a little more carefully.

“Honestly I figured you’d want something simpler. Maybe a courthouse wedding and then a dinner or small party with family.”

Sarah gasped like she’d just heard terrible news. “What?!”

You glanced at her. “What.”

Sarah looked horrified. “Then I can’t be a flower girl!”

Tommy burst out laughing. 

Joel rubbed a hand over his mouth.  “How do you even know what that is?”

You looked like you were trying very hard not to laugh too.

Sarah ignored him and crossed her arms. “That is not fair.”

Joel looked between the two. Then back at you.

“…Funny thing is,” he said slowly, “I did think that.”

You watched him carefully.

Joel shrugged a little. “But the more I’ve been thinkin’ about it…” Joel shifted his weight. “…I kinda want the whole thing.”

You blinked, surprised. “The whole thing?”

Joel nodded once. “Yeah.”

His voice went a little quieter now. “I want our people there.”

Tommy went very still against the counter.

Joel kept talking. “I want to say the words in front of ’em.” Your eyes were starting to shine, but Joel didn’t seem to notice. “I wanna see you walk toward me.” You inhaled sharply. Joel shrugged again, like it wasn’t a big deal. “…Down the aisle.”

Sarah gasped dramatically.

“I just want us to have a day we’ll remember when we’re grey and old,” Joel finished.

The kitchen went quiet for a second. You blinked quickly. Joel frowned faintly, only then realizing your eyes were shining.

That hadn’t been the plan. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to say half of that out loud. A few weeks ago he would’ve sworn a courthouse would be enough. Sign the papers, shake a few hands, get on with life. Simple. Quiet. Safe.

But somewhere along the way the idea had changed. Maybe it was the way you fit into his life so naturally it sometimes scared him. Maybe it was the way Sarah had started talking about your future like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  Or maybe it was just the thought of standing there… watching you walk toward him.

Joel shifted slightly where he stood, suddenly aware he’d said more than he usually did. But when he saw the look on your face; soft, overwhelmed, trying not to cry, something warm and steady spread through his chest. Yeah. That was exactly why.

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face like he was pretending something wasn’t happening to his eyes.

You blinked quickly, clearly trying to keep your composure. “…Okay then.”

Sarah shot straight out of her chair. “Yes!” She threw both arms in the air. “FLOWER GIRL!”

You laughed through the tears you were trying very hard not to shed. Then you rubbed at the corner of one eye and cleared your throat.

“Alright,” you said, pulling yourself back together. “Then maybe we should actually start looking at venues.”

Joel nodded slowly. “I guess.”

You leaned back in your chair, thinking aloud now. “Venues, vendors… catering, maybe a photographer…”

Tommy whistled under his breath. “That escalated quick.”

You looked at him. “You started it.”

Tommy raised both hands. “Fair.”

You looked back at Joel. “If we start looking now… maybe we could even tell everyone the date during Christmas break.”

Joel nodded again. “Yeah.”

That seemed reasonable. A small pause settled over the kitchen. Then Tommy shifted his weight against the counter.

“…About that.”

You looked over. “Yeah?”

Tommy scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking far less confident than usual. “I was thinkin’…” he said slowly. “…about bringing someone to Christmas this year.”

You froze. Your eyes widened immediately. “NO.”

Joel looked between them. “…What.”

You blinked rapidly, clearly recalculating something in your head. Then you turned back to Tommy.

“…Really?”

Tommy nodded once. “I’ve been… seein’ someone.”

Sarah’s head popped up like a prairie dog. “You have?!”

Tommy smiled a little sheepishly. “Yeah.”

Sarah’s head popped up like a prairie dog. “You have a girlfriend?!”

Tommy smiled a little sheepishly. “Yeah, kinda.” He looked at Joel and you both. “And if it’s okay with you guys…” he added, voice quieter now, “I’d like to introduce her.”

“WHAT?!” Sarah and you both shouted at the exact same time.

Tommy flinched. “Jesus-”

“Tell us about her!” Sarah demanded immediately, climbing halfway onto her chair.

“Yes, tell us about her,” you added, eyes bright now.

Tommy grinned despite himself. “Her name’s Maria.”

You gasped softly. “That already sounds awesome.”

Tommy chuckled. “She’s… great.” He leaned his hip against the counter, clearly trying to sound casual and failing completely. “She didn’t fall for my bullshit the first time I tried flirting with her.”

Joel snorted quietly. “Smart woman.”

Tommy looked at him. “Exactly.” Then he went on. “We kinda… reconnected after I started therapy. Ran into each other again. And well…” He shrugged.

Sarah was practically vibrating. “And well what?!”

Tommy laughed. “And well… we started seeing each other.”

You put a hand to your chest dramatically. “Oh my God, I’m so happy.” Your eyes were already suspiciously shiny. “I’m gonna cry.”

Tommy turned at you immediately. “Please don’t.”

You sniffed once anyway. “Too late.”

Then Tommy added casually, “She actually works at the DA’s office.”

You froze. “…You’re kidding.”

Tommy shook his head. “Nope.”

You stared at him. “The DA’s office? So she’s a lawyer too?”

“Yeah.”

You leaned forward slowly. “…Tommy.”

Tommy grinned. “…Yeah.”

You slapped the table. “This is incredible.”

Tommy grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction now.

Sarah was practically bouncing in her chair. “Is she coming to Christmas Eve dinner?!”

Tommy nodded. “That’s the idea.”

You looked like you were about three seconds away from hugging him. “Oh my God, I’m so happy.”

Tommy held up a hand quickly. “Please don’t cry again.”

“I’m not crying,” you protested, wiping under one eye. “I’m emotionally supportive.”

Joel had been leaning against the counter watching this whole thing unfold like it was some kind of natural disaster. He shook his head slowly.

“…Poor woman.”

Tommy turned to him immediately. “Hey.”

Joel shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

Tommy folded his arms. “She’s the one who asked me out this time.”

Joel blinked. “…She did?”

Tommy nodded once, very satisfied with himself. “Yep.”

Joel let out a low whistle. “Well.” He pushed off the counter and grabbed his soda. “…Then she knows what she’s doin’.”

Tommy grinned. “Oh she does.”

You looked at him. “You better bring her.”

Tommy nodded.

Sarah raised her hand like she was in class. “Can I interrogate her?”

Tommy stared at her. “…You what.”

You patted Sarah’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, we’ll let her sit down first.”

Joel took a slow sip of his drink and glanced at Tommy. “…Name’s Maria, huh.”

Tommy nodded.

Joel gave a small approving nod. “…Alright.”

Tommy looked at him. “…That’s it?”

Joel shrugged. “What.”

Tommy squinted at him. “That was suspiciously supportive.”

Joel smirked slightly. “Don’t get used to it.”

***********

A couple days later, you made Joel’s life significantly easier. He was sitting on the tailgate at the jobsite during lunch, half listening to Tommy complain about a supplier, when his phone buzzed. He looked down. It was you.

The first message read: I narrowed it down to three venues.

Before he could answer, another one came through.

Before you panic: I already asked for pricing. They’re all in budget.

Joel snorted under his breath.

Tommy glanced over. “What.”

Joel turned the phone toward him. Tommy read it, then whistled softly.

“…Damn. That woman’s efficient.”

Joel opened the next message. Three links. Three venues. And under each one, a short note from you.

Venue one: oak trees, outdoor ceremony maybe, decent catering package.

Venue two: small renovated ranch house, prettier than expected.

Venue three: old limestone hall, bigger, slightly more formal.

At the bottom you had added: You just have to tell me which one you hate the least.

Tommy laughed out loud.

Joel shook his head, smiling despite himself. “She’s already called them.”

Tommy nodded. “Efficient.”

Joel tapped the first link. A clean website opened. Big lawn. White chairs under trees. Lights strung overhead in the dusk photos.

Tommy leaned closer. “…That’s nice.”

Joel opened the second. The ranch house had a wraparound porch and wildflowers out front.

Tommy raised his eyebrow. “Bit fancier.”

Joel clicked the third. Stone walls. Wood beams. Indoor hall with tall windows.

Tommy nodded slowly. “That one’s real nice too.”

Joel scrolled back to the first one. The trees. The open space. Something about it felt right. Not too formal. Not too stiff. You could walk through there. Sarah could run around there. Your people could fill it without it feeling cramped or showy.

Tommy noticed him lingering. “That your favorite?”

Joel shrugged slightly. “Maybe.”

Tommy took another look. “Yeah,” he said. “I can see it.”

Joel locked the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

Tommy smirked at him. “Look at you.”

Joel glanced over. “What.”

Tommy grinned. “Talking venues.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Tommy laughed. “Nah, I’m serious. You’ve gone full domestic.”

Joel shook his head. Then, after a moment, he looked at Tommy and said dryly,

“You’re next.”

Tommy blinked. “…Excuse me?”

Joel shrugged. “What. You think Maria’s puttin’ up with your ass forever without a ring?”

Tommy let out a bark of laughter. “Hell no.”

Joel smirked faintly. “That’s what I thought.”

Tommy pointed at him. “You worry about your wedding first, Romeo.”

Joel leaned back on his hands, the corner of his mouth still turned up. “Mm-hm.”

But even as Tommy kept talking, Joel was already thinking about the first venue again. The one with the trees. And about seeing it with you, so on Saturday you drove out together. The venue sat about forty minutes outside Austin, far enough that the city noise slowly faded into open fields and long stretches of quiet road.

Sarah had been talking the entire drive. “So where will the cake be?”

You laughed from the passenger seat. “We haven’t even booked the place yet.”

“But if there’s cake,” Sarah continued, leaning forward between the seats, “it has to be big. Like huge.”

Joel glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “…You ain’t even the one gettin’ married.”

Sarah shrugged. “I’m the flower girl. That’s important.”

You covered your smile with your hand. Joel shook his head, turning down the gravel driveway. The venue appeared slowly through a row of old oak trees; there, a restored farmhouse stood beside a large lawn. Strings of lights were already hung between the branches above the ceremony space, though they wouldn’t be lit until evening.

Your breath caught a little. “Oh.”

Joel noticed immediately. “…You like it.”

You stepped out of the truck slowly, looking around. “I love it.”

Sarah was already running toward the lawn. “IT’S HUGE.”

A woman in her fifties stepped out from the farmhouse with a warm smile. “You must be my 10:30.”

Joel shook her hand. “Joel.”

She turned to you. “And you must be the bride.”

You laughed softly. “That’s still strange to hear.”

“I’m Linda,” the woman said kindly. “Come on, let me show you around.”

She started with the ceremony space. Linda gestured toward the oak trees.

“Most couples set up right here,” she explained. “The aisle runs between the trees, chairs on either side. When the lights come on at dusk it’s really beautiful.”

Sarah immediately walked the imaginary aisle, throwing invisible flower petals. You watched her with a smile.

Joel looked up at the branches above them. “…You hang the lights yourselves?”

Linda nodded. “Every event. We also handle seating and basic setup.”

Joel nodded slowly.

“You’re asking logistics questions,” you said, amused.

Joel shrugged. “Just makin’ sure they know what they’re doin’.”

Linda chuckled. “We’ve hosted over three hundred weddings here.”

“That so,” Joel said.

You nudged his arm. “You sound like you’re interviewing her.”

Joel looked at you. “Well yeah.”

You laughed again.

You all moved toward the reception hall next. Inside, the space was bright with tall windows, wooden beams across the ceiling, and a polished floor that reflected the afternoon sun.

Linda pointed toward one side of the room. “Dance floor goes here.”

Sarah spun immediately in the empty space.

You turned slowly, taking everything in. “It’s beautiful.”

Linda smiled. “Most couples say that when they walk in.”

Joel studied the room quietly. “Capacity?”

“About one hundred fifty comfortably.”

Joel nodded again. He felt you watch him for a moment, surprised. When Linda stepped away briefly to grab a brochure, you leaned closer to him.

“You’re very invested in this.”

Joel glanced at her. “What?”

“I thought I’d have to drag you through venue visits.”

Joel frowned slightly. “Why.”

You shrugged. “I figured you’d tolerate it.”

Joel looked around the room again. Then back at you. “…I’m marrying you here.”

The simple way he said it made your throat tighten.

Joel gestured toward the windows, the trees outside, the space filling slowly in his mind. “Our people will be here.”

You blinked quickly.

Joel shrugged a little. “…I wanna see you walk toward me, maybe here, maybe in my parents’ church.”

You laughed softly through the emotion rising in your chest. “You keep saying that.”

Joel stepped a little closer to you. “Yeah.” His voice softened. “Because I can’t wait to marry you.”

You looked like you felt your eyes sting again.

Sarah’s voice rang out from the dance floor. “LOOK I’M PRACTICING!”

You laughed through the tears and leaned into Joel’s side. “Flower girl’s very serious about this.”

Joel smirked faintly. “…Good.”

And looking around the room again, he realized something quietly certain. This was the place.

Linda came back with a folder and a printed calendar. You took it, glancing over the details, but Joel’s attention had already shifted to the dates column.

“…Available dates?” he asked.

Linda stepped closer and pointed. “We’re pretty booked through the spring and summer next year,” she said, running a finger down the page. “But actually…” She paused. “We had a cancellation.”

Joel looked up. “When?”

“Last weekend of June,” she said. “The couple had to move their wedding overseas, so June twenty-eighth just opened up.”

Your eyes widened. “That’s… actually perfect.”

Linda nodded. “It usually goes fast when something like that opens.”

Joel studied the calendar for another second. Then he asked, calm and practical, “How would we go about saving the date?”

Linda smiled knowingly. “Five hundred dollar deposit,” she said. “That holds the venue. The rest of the contract can be finalized later.”

Joel nodded once. Then he looked at you. For a second the room went quiet around you; Sarah twirling across the dance floor, the sunlight through the windows, the oak trees outside waiting patiently.

Joel moved his head slightly. “…Wanna get married here June twenty-eighth?”

You stared at him. The question landed so simply it almost took your breath away. Your eyes shone again, but this time you didn’t try to hide it. You laughed softly, a little overwhelmed.

“…I think I do.”

Joel smiled. And somewhere behind you Sarah shouted,

“IS THAT THE DAY I GET TO THROW FLOWERS?!”

Joel laughed softly. “Let’s close it then.”

Sarah gasped like she had just been handed a royal title. Joel shook his head, smiling despite himself. You wiped quickly under your eye, trying to regain some composure.

Linda opened the folder. “Well,” she said warmly, “let’s sit down for a moment and go over the details.”

You gathered around a small wooden desk near the entrance. Sarah immediately climbed onto a nearby chair and leaned over the paperwork like she was part of the negotiation.

Linda slid a simple contract across the table. “The deposit holds the date. After that we’ll set a planning meeting in a few weeks to go over vendors, seating layout, ceremony timing… all that good stuff.”

You nodded, reading through the page carefully. Joel watched you for a moment. Then glanced around the room again. The beams overhead. The windows looking out toward the trees. Sarah spinning slowly in the middle of the dance floor.

His wedding. Your wedding. The thought still felt surreal.

You looked up. “It all looks good.”

Linda slid a pen toward Joel. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Joel picked it up. He hesitated for half a second; not out of doubt, but out of the strange weight of the moment. Then he signed. You signed next.

Linda collected the papers with a pleased smile. “Well,” she said. “Congratulations.”

Sarah jumped off her chair. “WE HAVE A DATEEE!”

Linda laughed again. “I’ll send you the full planning packet later this week.”

Joel nodded. “Appreciate it.”

You stepped outside a few minutes later. The late afternoon light had turned warmer, filtering through the oak trees.

Sarah ran ahead across the lawn again. “I’M PRACTICING MY FLOWERS!”

You watched her go, still a little dazed.

Joel slipped his hand into yours. “…You okay?”

You looked up at him. Then out at the trees. Then back at him again. “We have a date.”

Joel nodded. “Yeah.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “This is happening.”

Joel squeezed your hand. “…Yeah.”

Sarah spun dramatically in the grass. “JUNE TWENTY-EIGHTH!”

*************

The house smelled like cinnamon, roasted ham, and something slightly burnt that you refused to admit had been the first batch of rolls. The sun had already set, and the Christmas lights Joel had hung along the porch a few weeks earlier glowed softly through the windows.

Inside was chaos, the good kind. Sarah had been buzzing since seven that morning. Between Santa arriving overnight and the fact that you and him were getting married, the girl had reached a level of excitement that bordered on nuclear.

She sprinted through the kitchen for the fourth time in ten minutes. “Do you think Santa will come before midnight?”

You didn’t even look up from the potatoes you were mashing. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you plan on still being awake.”

“That’s unfair.”

Joel chuckled from the other side of the kitchen island where he was carving the ham. “You been askin’ that question every twenty minutes.”

Sarah leaned dramatically over the counter. “Well maybe the answer will change.”

You smirked. “It won’t.”

Sarah huffed and ran back toward the living room, where the tree lights blinked softly.

Joel watched her disappear. “…She’s gonna crash at like nine thirty.”

You laughed. “Absolutely.”

You wiped your hands on a towel and stepped over to check the table. It had taken you the better part of the afternoon to set everything up. Nothing too fancy… But nice enough. A red tablecloth Sarah had insisted on. Candles in the middle. Five plates already set. You adjusted one of the napkins slightly.

Joel noticed. “You’ve fixed that napkin three times.”

You didn’t even deny it. “It’s crooked.”

Joel walked over behind you, setting the carving knife down. “It ain’t crooked.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It absolutely is.”

Joel leaned closer, looking over your shoulder. “…Alright maybe a bit.”

You fixed it again. Then stepped back.

Joel slid his arms loosely around your waist from behind. “You nervous?”

You leaned back into him. “A little.”

Joel rested his chin on your shoulder. “She’s gonna like you.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not worried about Maria liking me.”

Joel looked at you, puzzled. “No?”

You turned slightly in his arms. “I’m worried about you two behaving like idiots.”

Joel looked offended. “We always behave like idiots.”

You smiled. “Exactly.”

From the living room Sarah shouted suddenly, “HEADLIGHTS!”

You straightened. “That must be them.”

Joel sighed quietly. “Well.” He grabbed two plates and started carrying them to the table. “Moment of truth.”

You glanced at the door. Tommy introducing a woman he was serious about... That alone felt historic.

Sarah ran into the kitchen again, nearly skidding across the floor. “THEY’RE HERE.”

You smoothed your sweater. Joel picked up the glasses. Sarah bounced in place like a loaded spring.

The doorbell rang. Sarah launched herself toward the front door like a hawk.

“I’LL GET IT!”

You and Joel exchanged a quick look.

“Careful,” you called after her.

Too late. The door was already flying open. Tommy stood on the porch, one hand tucked in the pocket of his jacket, looking suspiciously more put together than usual.

And beside him… Maria. She was tall, elegant in a way that made the small porch light seem suddenly inadequate. Deep brown skin, dark hair pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck, and a warm coat wrapped around her shoulders. There was something calm and confident about the way she stood there, even with Sarah staring up at her like she’d just discovered a celebrity.

Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “…Wow.”

Tommy sighed. “Kid.”

Maria laughed softly. “Hi.” Her voice was warm, smooth. 

Sarah recovered immediately. “You’re Maria.”

Maria crouched slightly so she was more at Sarah’s level. “And you must be Sarah.”

Sarah nodded very seriously. “I’m the flower girl.”

Tommy groaned. “Oh my God.”

Maria grinned. “Well that sounds like a very important job.”

Sarah beamed. From the kitchen, Joel stepped into the hallway and Tommy looked up.

“Hey.”

Joel took in the scene for half a second. Then he looked at Maria. She extended her hand.

“Maria.”

He shook it. “Joel.”

She smiled easily. “So you’re the infamous older brother.”

Joel narrowed his eyes slightly. “That what he’s been tellin’ you?”

Tommy immediately cut in. “I didn’t say infamous.”

Maria tilted her head with a playful smile. “I’m reserving judgment.”

Joel smirked. “…Fair enough.”

You appeared behind him a second later. The moment Maria stood up straight again, the two of you looked at each other. There was a brief pause. Then you stepped forward with a bright smile.

“Hey, I’m Juliet.”

Maria shook your hand warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You laughed. “I hope it was good.”

Maria glanced at Tommy. “Mostly.”

Tommy groaned again. “Y’all are brutal.”

Your eyes softened immediately. “We’re really glad you’re here.”

And it was true. Something about Maria’s presence filled the doorway naturally, like she belonged there already.

Joel also noticed the way Tommy was looking at her. Completely, hopelessly smitten. Joel had never, ever, seen his brother like that.

Maria stepped inside as Sarah grabbed her sleeve. “Come see the tree!”

Tommy blinked. “That was fast.”

You laughed and followed them toward the living room.

Joel clapped Tommy lightly on the shoulder as he passed. “…Good job.”

Tommy looked momentarily stunned. Then he glanced toward Maria again, smiling as Sarah showed her the Christmas lights on the tree.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I think so.”

Maria laughed softly as Sarah dragged her closer to the tree.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I made this one,” Sarah said immediately, pointing at a crooked glitter star that had clearly survived several Christmases.

Maria leaned in to inspect it seriously. “That one is clearly the best.”

Sarah looked extremely satisfied. Behind them, Joel and Tommy stepped inside and shut the door.

You took Maria’s coat. “Let me take that.”

“Thank you.”

Tommy hovered awkwardly for a second like he wasn’t sure where to stand.

Joel noticed. “…Relax.”

Tommy shot him a look. “I am relaxed.”

Joel smirked. “You look like you’re about to testify in court.”

Tommy muttered something under his breath.

In the living room Sarah had already moved on to the next topic. “Do you celebrate Christmas?”

Maria nodded. “Of course.”

Sarah lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Santa’s coming tonight.”

Maria gasped dramatically. “Well then I’m glad I showed up.”

You laughed from the doorway. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Sarah spun toward the kitchen. “FINALLY.”

Joel shook his head. “She’s been askin’ every five minutes.”

Maria smiled warmly. “I remember that age.”

You all drifted toward the table. The candles you had lit flickered softly against the red tablecloth, and the smell of the ham filled the room now.

Maria paused when she saw the spread. “Oh wow.”

You waved it off. “It’s nothing fancy.”

Tommy scoffed. “You should see what she calls fancy.”

You elbowed him lightly. Joel pulled out a chair for Maria. 

“Thank you.”

Tommy looked at Joel suspiciously.

Joel shrugged. “What.”

You sat. Sarah immediately started talking again.

“So the wedding is in June.”

Maria looked toward Joel and Juliet with interest. “Oh?”

Joel nodded. “Twenty-eighth.”

Maria smiled. “That’s wonderful.”

Sarah leaned forward across the table. “I’m the flower girl.”

Maria looked impressed. “That’s a very prestigious role.”

Tommy muttered, “She’s been reminding us.”

Joel caught Tommy watching Maria again. The look on his brother’s face said everything. Joel leaned back in his chair slightly.

“…So,” he said casually. “How’d you two meet again?”

Tommy groaned immediately. “Joel.”

Maria smiled slowly. “Oh no,” she said. “I like this story.”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face. “Of course you do.”

You leaned forward on your elbows, already entertained. “Please tell me he made a fool of himself.”

Maria tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well… yes.”

Sarah gasped in delight.

Tommy pointed at Maria. “You are absolutely not telling this right.”

Maria ignored him completely. “We first met about a year ago,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

You leaned forward immediately. “Oh I need this story.”

Tommy sighed. “…Why.”

Maria ignored him. “I had just come out of the courthouse after a hearing,” she said, “and he was standing near the steps.” She nodded toward Tommy. “Arguing with a parking meter.”

Sarah blinked. “…What?”

Joel barked a laugh. “Sounds right.”

Tommy lifted a hand defensively. “That thing ate two dollars!”

Maria continued calmly. “He kicked it.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth. “Oh my God.”

“It was justified,” Tommy replied, outraged.

Maria went on. “When he noticed me watching, he immediately straightened up and leaned against the railing like he’d been standing there the whole time looking cool.” Maria chuckled. “He asked if I worked at the courthouse.”

You shook your head. “That was the opening line?”

Tommy threw his hands up. “It was a reasonable question!”

Maria nodded thoughtfully. “Very smooth.” She continued. “When I said yes, he said-”

Tommy groaned. “…Don’t.”

Maria finished the sentence anyway. “Well then I better behave myself.”

Joel snorted.

“So I asked him what he was doing there.” Maria continued.

Tommy muttered, “I had business.”

Maria turned to you. “He did, but he’d been done for a while.”

You leaned back in your chair. “So what was he doing there?”

Maria smiled faintly. “Waiting for someone from the permit office, apparently.”

Joel nodded slowly. “That actually checks out.”

Tommy slammed the table with his hand. “Thank you.”

Maria continued. “Then he tried to ask what kind of cases I worked on.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh no.”

Maria nodded. “He guessed… traffic court.” She smiled sweetly. “So I told him he clearly had no idea what he was talking about.”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face.

“And then,” Maria continued calmly, “he said, and I quote-” She glanced at him. 

Tommy already knew what was coming. “…Maria-”

“-‘Darlin’, come on. Let me take you out for a night you’ll never forget.’”

You slapped a hand over your mouth. “Oh my God, Tommy!”

Maria shrugged lightly. “So I told him he was full of shit.”

Sarah’s eyes went wide. “You said that?”

Maria blinked, suddenly remembering her audience. “Oh, sorry,” she said quickly, glancing at Joel. “I shouldn’t say that word in front of you.”

Sarah waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry.” Then she nodded toward Joel very matter-of-factly. “Dad says it all the time when he drops stuff.”

Joel nearly choked on his drink. “Sarah.”

Tommy burst out laughing.

“Tommy Miller,” you said between breaths, “did you really use darlin’ as your opening move?”

Tommy threw his hands up. “It’s a classic!”

Joel shook his head. “It’s a horrible cliché.”

Maria smiled innocently. “I told him that too.”

Sarah looked between them, fascinated. “And then what happened?”

Maria took another sip of her drink. “Then I walked away.”

Tommy muttered under his breath, “Without even givin’ me a chance.”

You leaned toward Maria conspiratorially. “And yet here you are.”

Maria glanced sideways at Tommy, her smile softening just a little. “…He’s persistent.”

You leaned forward eagerly. “So you saw him again.”

Maria nodded. “Several times.” She said. “The permit office is two blocks from the courthouse.”

Tommy shrugged. “I had paperwork!”

Maria nodded. “He did.” Then she added, “Every time we ran into each other, he tried a new approach.”

Sarah leaned forward. “What kind?”

Maria thought for a moment. “One time he brought coffee and said it was a peace offering for ‘the full of shit incident.’” Maria continued. “Another time he tried to guess my job again.”

Joel winced. “Don’t tell me.”

Maria nodded. “He guessed divorce lawyer.”

You dropped your head on the table laughing. “Oh my God.”

Tommy defended himself. “Statistically it was a good guess!”

Maria looked at him. “You also guessed I might be a bailiff.”

Tommy muttered, “I was narrowing it down.”

Maria’s smile softened slightly then. “We kept running into each other for months.”

Joel noticed the way Tommy looked at her when she said that.

Then Maria added quietly, “And then one day I saw him again.”

Tommy nodded once. “After rehab.”

Maria glanced at him. “This time he didn’t try to be charming.”

Tommy shrugged. “Wasn’t in the mood.”

Maria smiled. “He just said hello.”

A small pause settled around the table.

“And that worked?” you asked.

Maria nodded. “Turns out,” she said lightly, “he’s much better when he stops trying so hard.”

Tommy looked down at his plate, shaking his head. “…I hate this story.”

Sarah grinned. “Uncle Tommy, you were flirting wrong.”

Joel clapped him on the back. “Took you a year, but you got there.”

For a moment the table fell quiet in that comfortable way that only happens when something sincere lands.

Then Sarah suddenly bolted out of her chair. “OH, I KNOW.”

Everyone looked at her. Joel shook his head. “Know what.”

She ran toward the hallway. “WAIT.”

You frowned. “…Where is she going?”

Joel shrugged. “No idea.”

Sarah returned thirty seconds later at full speed holding something in her hand. A cream-colored envelope. She ran straight up to Maria and held it out proudly.

“You can have the first one.”

Maria stared at it. “…What is it?”

Sarah shoved it closer. “The wedding invitation.”

Tommy choked on his drink. You looked like you had completely forgotten those existed.

Maria hesitated slightly. “Oh- I don’t want to assume…”

You waved the concern away instantly. “Assume? Of course you’re invited!” Your answer came instantly, warm and certain, your hand already reaching across the table toward Maria as if the invitation itself had simply made official something you had already decided the moment Tommy walked through the door with her. “You’re Tommy’s girlfriend,” you said, almost incredulous with happiness. “That’s huge.”

Tommy, who had been leaning back in his chair with the satisfied look of a man enjoying the show, cleared his throat slowly. “…We actually haven’t had that talk yet.”

The effect was immediate. You froze mid-gesture, your hand still hovering above the table. Maria’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise, her fingers still lightly holding the envelope Sarah had pressed into them.

And for a full second the entire table went quiet. Juliet blinked once. Then once again.

“Oh my God.” You leaned back in your chair and pressed a hand over your forehead, mortified. “I am so sorry. I just assumed, I shouldn’t have assumed-”

Across from you, Tommy watched the panic unfold with growing amusement, his mouth twitching like he was fighting a losing battle not to laugh. He let the moment stretch just long enough to be cruel. Then he broke and laughed out loud.

“I’m kidding,” he said, grinning now. “Of course we’ve had that talk.”

You slowly lowered your hand from your face. You stared at him for a full second. Then another. 

“…I hate you.”

Tommy laughed again.

Maria shook her head, smiling softly as she slid the envelope onto the table in front of her. “Well,” she said warmly. “I’d be honored to come.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, watching Maria with that same quietly amazed look. 

Dinner settled into the kind of warmth that only happens when a house is full of people who are slowly realizing they belong in the same room together.

The food helped. Joel passed plates around while Sarah narrated the entire process like a sports commentator.

“And this,” she said importantly, pointing at the mashed potatoes, “is Juliet’s recipe.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s not my recipe.”

Sarah ignored her. “And the ham was cooked by Dad but supervised by Juliet because Dad burns things sometimes.”

Joel looked offended. “I do not burn things.”

Tommy immediately chimed in. “You burned toast last week.”

“That was the toaster.”

Maria laughed softly into her glass. Sarah leaned across the table toward Maria again, still buzzing with the excitement of Christmas Eve and wedding plans.

“So if you come to the wedding,” she said seriously, “you’ll see me throw flowers.”

Maria nodded with equal seriousness. “I’m looking forward to that part.”

Sarah brightened. “Good.”

You caught Joel watching the two of them and smiled slightly.

Across the table, the conversation slowly drifted into familiar territory. Work. Maria mentioned a case she had been dealing with that week.

Your eyes immediately lit up. “Was that the zoning dispute downtown?”

“You know about that?”

You nodded. “I heard rumors from someone in civil litigation.”

Maria leaned forward slightly, intrigued now. “Well the city attorney tried to argue nuisance restrictions under the commercial code-”

You groaned. “Of course they did.”

Joel glanced between them. “…Are they speaking English?”

Tommy shook his head slowly. “Not anymore.”

The two of you were fully in it now, exchanging half-finished sentences and legal jargon with the speed of people who had both spent too many hours inside courtrooms.

“…and then the judge actually let the motion stand,” Maria was saying.

You laughed in disbelief. “No way.”

“Oh, yes.”

Joel leaned closer to Tommy. “…Should we be worried.”

Tommy shrugged. “Probably.”

Sarah looked back and forth between them. “…I don’t understand anything they’re saying.”

Joel nodded. “Welcome to the club.”

But Maria and you both noticed the looks and laughed, easing the conversation back toward normal. The night kept unfolding like that. Stories. Laughter. Sarah insisting Maria see every ornament on the tree.

At one point Joel caught Tommy watching Maria while she talked with you and Sarah, that same quiet, amazed look still there.

Joel nudged him under the table. “…You’re starin’.”

Tommy muttered, “Shut up.” But he was smiling.

By the time dessert appeared (apple pie you had picked up from a bakery that morning) the room had settled into something easy and comfortable.

Maria fit. Not in the polite guest way. In the natural way. Like she’d simply stepped into an empty space that had been waiting for her.

Later, when the plates had been cleared and Sarah had curled herself into one corner of the couch under a blanket, determined to stay awake through a Christmas movie she was already losing against, you slipped quietly out onto the back porch for a moment of air. He followed you and saw Tommy was already there, and heard you two mid-conversation.

“Tommy Miller.”

Joel saw Tommy already brace himself. “…What about him?”

You folded your arms, smiling. “Mister never-call-a-girl-twice.”

Tommy groaned. “Oh, come on.”

“The man who used to disappear the second things got complicated.”

“That was years ago.”

You leaned closer, enjoying yourself now. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tommy glanced sideways. “What day.”

Your smile softened. “You. In love.”

For a moment Tommy didn’t answer. He looked through the window instead, toward Maria sitting with Sarah, listening like whatever Sarah was explaining about wedding aisles and flower petals was somehow the most important conversation in Texas.

Then Tommy scratched the back of his neck. “…I dunno if I’d call it that.” He exhaled. “Well.” A small shrug. “Not in love.” Another glance through the glass. “…Maybe gettin’ there.”

Joel looked down briefly, hiding the smile that came before he could stop it.

You saw it too, apparently. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Thought so.”

Tommy’s voice changed a little. “You know, I never properly thanked you.”

You frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

“The therapy. Getting my life straight. Meeting her again.” His eyes stayed on the window. “Wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t pushed me when you did.”

You shook your head immediately. “You did the hard part.”

“Still.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it was full. Then Tommy stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. Solid and immediate.

Joel watched you freeze for half a second in surprise before hugging him back just as tightly.

“…Thank you,” Tommy said quietly.

“You’re family,” you answered, as simple as breathing.

Tommy let out a breath that almost sounded embarrassed by itself. “…You’re gonna make me emotional.”

You smiled. “That would be a Christmas miracle.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but the grin stayed.

At that point Joel finally pushed the door open fully. “Boy, if you start cryin’, I’m gettin’ a camera.”

Both of you turned. Tommy glared instantly. “You been standin’ there spyin’?”

Joel stepped out onto the porch, unbothered. “Came to see if my fiancée was freezing.”

You smiled immediately at that word; still new enough to do that every time. “I’m fine.”

Tommy pointed at Joel. “You heard nothin’.”

Joel leaned beside you. “Heard enough.”

Tommy muttered something under his breath. 

Inside, Sarah suddenly shouted: “MARIA, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS ONE!”

You laughed and looked through the window. “She’s adopted her already.”

Tommy shook his head, still staring inside. “Ten minutes.”

Joel looked through the glass too. Maria laughing on the rug. Sarah explaining life like she ran the world. Warm light everywhere.

“Kids know,” Joel said with a smile.

Tommy glanced sideways at him. “You really think so?”

Joel nodded toward the living room.

Tommy nudged his arm. “Come on. Before you eat the rest of the pie without asking.”

Joel looked offended. “I was savin’ that pie.”

Tommy snorted. “Liar.”

****************

Joel woke slowly, the way he did on rare mornings when the house was quiet and no one had jumped on him yet.

For a moment he just lay there, warm under the blankets, one arm stretched across the mattress.

You were already awake. Which, in itself, was suspicious. You were sitting cross-legged, back in the headboard, hair messy, wearing one of his old T-shirts and looking… ridiculously pleased with yourself. Just sitting there. Grinning.

Joel squinted at you. “…Why are you lookin’ like that.”

You bit your lip, trying, and failing, to suppress the smile. “I just realized something.”

Joel groaned softly and rolled onto his back. “That’s dangerous.”

You nudged his shoulder with your foot. “Last Christmas not being an official Miller,” you said.

Joel stared at once. Something warm and deep shifted in his chest. Then it shifted lower. His gaze dropped briefly to your bare legs where they disappeared under the oversized shirt. He felt himself getting instantly hard.

He exhaled. “…Jesus.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Instead of answering, Joel grabbed you by the waist and pulled you down onto the mattress.

You yelped, laughing as he landed on top of you. “Joel-!”

He kissed you before you could finish the sentence, one hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other pulled you closer against him.

You laughed against his mouth. “Oh wow,” you murmured. “That’s quite the reaction to my last name.”

“You started it,” he muttered. His mouth found your neck, and you tipped your head back automatically, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Joel-”

His hand slid along your thigh, getting inside your panties.

You laughed breathlessly. “We are absolutely about to be interrupted.”

“Worth it.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, clearly not arguing the point. And right on cue… 

“DAD, JULIET!!!”

Both of you froze. From the living room came the unmistakable sound of Sarah running across the floor.

“SANTA’S COME!”

You burst out laughing into Joel’s shoulder.

Joel groaned and dropped his forehead against the pillow. “…Kid’s got impeccable timing.”

“DAD! JULIET! PRESENTS!”

You slid off the bed, still laughing, and tugged his arm. “Come on, Miller.”

Joel sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “…We were having a moment.”

You grinned. “You can finish that moment later.”

Sarah’s footsteps thundered closer. “ARE YOU COMING?!”

Joel stood, grabbed you by the waist again for one quick kiss. “…This ain’t over.”

You laughed and pushed him toward the door. “Let’s go before she breaks the house down.”

And a second later you were both heading toward the living room, where Sarah was vibrating with excitement.

She sat cross-legged in front of the tree, practically vibrating. “Okay okay okay okay.”

You dropped onto the couch beside Joel, still laughing from the mad dash out of bed. “Start with the stocking.”

Sarah didn’t need to be told twice. She reached in and began pulling things out one after another. Candy cane, chocolate coins, a tiny puzzle…

“Oh!” She held up a small pack of markers. “The good ones!”

Joel leaned against the doorframe with his coffee. “Santa knows quality.”

Sarah dug deeper. “More chocolate!”

You  laughed. “Careful. You’ll explode before breakfast.”

“I will not.”

She ripped open the first wrapped present next. Paper flew everywhere. Inside was a big art set; sketchbooks, colored pencils, a proper drawing kit she’d been eyeing in the store for weeks. She froze for a second. Then looked up slowly.

“Whoa.”

Joel shrugged like it was nothing. “You said you wanted better ones.”

Sarah looked like someone had handed her the moon. “These are amazing.”

She launched herself at him.

Joel barely caught her. “Hey-”

“Thank you!”

He hugged her back, a little awkwardly. “…Yeah.”

You watched them with a soft smile.

Sarah pulled away and immediately grabbed another gift. “Okay, now you guys.”

You laughed. “Bossy.”

Sarah handed Joel a small box first.

Joel frowned. “I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Too bad.”

He unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a watch. Simple. Solid but elegant. The kind that would survive being knocked against wood beams and toolboxes for the next twenty years.

Joel turned it in his hand slowly. “…Well I’ll be.”

Sarah leaned forward eagerly. “Do you like it?”

Joel slipped it onto his wrist, testing the weight. “…Yeah.” He glanced at you. “Real nice.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “About time you had something that told time.”

Joel smirked. “I got the sun.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Dad.”

Then she handed you a larger box.

You looked puzzled. “What did you two do.”

Joel leaned back against the couch. “Open it.”

You peeled the paper back slowly. Inside was a coat. A beautiful dark wool coat; elegant, warm, with a cut you’d stopped to admire in a shop window weeks earlier. You had looked at the price tag. Then shaken your head. Then walked away. You went completely still. Your fingers ran slowly over the fabric.

“…Joel.”

Joel grinned. “You liked it.”

Your voice softened. “It was too expensive.”

He shrugged. “Christmas.”

You blinked quickly. “You went back and got it.”

Joel nodded once. Sarah watched the whole thing like it was a movie.

You stood up, walked over, and wrapped your arms around him. “Thank you.”

Joel hugged you back. “…Looks better on you than in that window anyway.”

Sarah grinned. “Okay that was romantic.”

Joel looked at her. “Don’t start.”

Sarah got a hug too and then leaned back on the floor again, pleased. She settled back among the torn wrapping paper and ribbon like a satisfied cat, already reaching for the next candy cane from her stocking while Joel adjusted the new watch on his wrist again, still getting used to the weight of it.

You sat back down beside him, the coat folded neatly across your lap, though every few seconds your fingers brushed over the fabric again like you still couldn’t quite believe it was yours.

For a moment the room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the Christmas tree lights and Sarah humming something under her breath while she examined one of her new toys.

Then Joel cleared his throat. “…Hey.”

You looked up. “What?”

Joel leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. For a second he looked almost… unsure of himself. Then he reached behind him toward the side table.

“I got somethin’ else for you.”

You blinked. “Joel-”

“It ain’t a big thing,” he muttered quickly. “Just… figured you might want it.”

He handed you a much smaller box. Not wrapped. Just a simple little jewelry case.

You looked at it, confused. “What’s this?”

Joel shrugged a shoulder. “Open it.”

You lifted the lid. Inside, resting against dark velvet, were a pair of earrings. Gold and pearl. Elegant, a little long, the kind of piece that felt timeless without trying too hard. Old-fashioned in the best possible way.

Your breath caught. “…Joel.”

“They were my mom’s,” he said quietly. “Tommy and I went through her things a while back. We split a few pieces. He took the bracelet she used to wear all the time.”

You looked back down at the earrings, your fingers hovering over them but not quite touching yet.

Joel went on, a little awkwardly. “I just thought… maybe… if you wanted… you could wear ’em for the wedding.” He glanced at you quickly. “No pressure or anything. Just figured you might like having somethin’ like that. Somethin’ old.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead you picked one up carefully, turning it in the light the way Joel had done with the watch earlier. The pearl caught the glow from the Christmas tree, soft and warm.

Your eyes were shining when you looked back at him. “They’re beautiful.”

Joel shifted in his seat. “Yeah, well… my mom had good taste.”

You leaned forward and kissed him. Slow. Soft. 

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Joel cleared his throat again, clearly trying not to look too affected. “Don’t make a big deal outta it.”

Too late. Sarah had been watching the entire exchange like a courtroom drama.

“Are those the wedding earrings?” she asked immediately.

You laughed softly. “They might be.”

Sarah nodded very seriously, as though she had just approved an important architectural decision. “Good. They look fancy.”

Joel snorted. “Well that settles it then.”

****************

Joel checked the clock on the microwave again and let out a quiet breath through his nose.

“Alright,” he called toward the staircase, raising his voice just enough to carry upstairs. “We’re leavin’ in ten minutes.”

Then Sarah’s voice floated down. “Fifteen!”

Joel squinted toward the ceiling. “That is not how time works.”

No response.

He shook his head and grabbed his keys from the counter, turning them once in his hand while the house hummed with the low, comfortable noise of the evening; the heater clicking on and off, music drifting faintly from Sarah’s room upstairs, footsteps moving somewhere overhead.

New Year’s Eve had never been a big event for him. Three years ago he’d spent New Year’s Eve working late on a job site and eating takeout in front of the TV. He hadn’t minded. Or at least he’d told himself he didn’t.

Now the night felt different. Bill and Frank had invited you for dinner. Annie would be there, and you were picking Tommy up on the way. Nothing fancy, just the small group of people who had somehow become their family over the last couple of years.

Joel glanced up toward the stairs again. “Sarah!”

“I’m coming!”

“You said that five minutes ago!”

Joel leaned one hip against the kitchen counter, listening as the house carried the small sounds of people getting ready upstairs.

The last year had changed more than he would have expected. Your presence had worked its way into every corner of the house without ever feeling forced. Your coat hung beside his near the door. Your books had claimed half the living room shelves. Your coffee mug seemed to appear wherever he happened to be standing.

And he still found himself reaching for you without thinking; a hand on your back when you passed him in the kitchen, pulling you into a quick kiss while you were talking about something else entirely.

Two years in and it hadn’t worn off. If anything it had settled deeper. He heard the bedroom door open upstairs and your voice drift down the hallway.

“Sarah, where are your shoes?”

“By the door!”

Joel looked down. The shoes were not by the door. He nudged them into place with the side of his boot just as Sarah appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a sweater that looked suspiciously oversized and the determined expression of someone absolutely planning to stay awake until midnight.

“See?” she said as she came down. “Ready.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You forgot your coat.”

Sarah stopped halfway across the living room. “…I knew that.”

She turned and ran back upstairs. Joel chuckled under his breath. A moment later you appeared at the top of the staircase, pulling your new coat on as you came down.

“You know she’s not sleeping before midnight,” you said.

Joel nodded. “I figured she’ll try.”

You stepped into the kitchen light and Joel’s gaze settled on you automatically. Your hair was pulled back loosely, and the flannel you wore looked suspiciously like one of his.

He reached out and caught your sleeve, pulling you a step closer without thinking about it. His right hand cradled your face, softly.

You looked up at him, amused. “What.”

Joel studied you for a moment. “Nothin’. Just lookin’ at you.”

You smiled. “That’s suspicious.”

Joel shrugged. “Probably.”

Before you could say anything else, Sarah came flying down the stairs again, coat half-zipped and hair slightly crooked from rushing.

“Okay now I’m ready!”

Joel pushed himself off the counter and grabbed his keys. “Good,” he said. Then he opened the front door and glanced back at them. “Let’s go.”

You slipped your hand into his as you stepped out into the cool evening air.

“First stop,” you said, “Tommy.”

Joel nodded as he headed toward the truck.

**************

“Do you think Uncle Tommy is ready yet?”

Joel kept his eyes on the road. “He better be.”

You, beside him, smiled faintly and reached back to tug Sarah’s scarf straight.

“Relax,” you said. “We’re early.”

You pulled up in front of Tommy’s small house a few minutes later. The porch light was already on, and Tommy stepped out the front door as the truck rolled to a stop, pulling on his jacket.

He climbed into the back seat, bringing a gust of cold air with him. “Evenin’, degenerates.”

Sarah twisted around immediately. “Uncle Tommy!”

Tommy grinned and ruffled her hair. “Hey, kid.”

Joel pulled away from the curb. “You ready or we gotta circle the block while you finish gettin’ dressed.”

Tommy kicked the back of Joel’s seat lightly. “I was outside before you even parked.”

You glanced back at him. “You look suspiciously put together.”

Tommy shrugged. “Tryin’ to make a good impression on respectable company.”

Joel snorted. “Little late for that.”

They drove for a few minutes in comfortable silence before Sarah turned again in her seat.

Eventually you glanced back at him. “So,”you said. “How was Christmas at Maria’s?”

Tommy leaned his head back against the seat. “Good,” he said. “Real good.”

Joel glanced at him briefly. “Yeah?”

Tommy nodded. “Big family. Loud. Lotta food.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Her mom kept tryin’ to feed me like I hadn’t eaten in a year.”

You laughed. “That means she liked you.”

“Oh she liked me,” Tommy said. “That wasn’t the problem.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “What was the problem.”

Tommy looked at him in the rearview mirror. “…Her dad.”

Sarah perked up instantly. “Was he scary?”

Tommy exhaled through his nose. “Let’s just say… the man shook my hand like he was testin’ if I’d break.”

Joel laughed. “Sounds familiar.”

Tommy pointed forward. “That’s what I’m sayin’. Guy’s almost as scary as Bill.”

You laughed too. “Oh please. No one is as scary as Bill.”

From the back seat Tommy considered that. “…Yeah,” he admitted. “You might be right.”

Sarah twisted around again. “Did he like you?”

Tommy hesitated. Then he shrugged. “I think so.”

You smiled knowingly. “That means he did.”

Tommy looked out the window for a second, clearly replaying something in his head. “…At one point he asked what my intentions were.”

Joel burst out laughing. “Oh man.”

Tommy pointed at him again. “Don’t you start. I survived it.”

Sarah gasped dramatically. “What did you say?”

Tommy rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “…I said I was takin’ things slow.”

You turned halfway around in your seat. “That was actually the correct answer.”

Joel nodded. “Miracle.”

Sarah giggled.

By the time you pulled into Bill and Frank’s driveway, the sky had gone fully dark, the trees around the property dotted with warm yellow lights Frank had strung along the fence and porch rails. The house itself glowed warmly from the inside, the windows bright against the cool December night.

Joel cut the engine and you all climbed out, the cool air making Sarah bounce on her toes for a second before she hurried up the short path to the porch.

Tommy shook his head as he followed. “Kid moves like she’s late for somethin’.”

“She’s late for midnight,” you said, smiling.

Inside, the house was warm and smelled like something incredible. Bill stood near the kitchen island with a drink in his hand while Frank moved between the stove and the counter, clearly finishing the last touches of dinner. Annie was setting down a bowl on the table when you walked in.

“Well look at that,” Frank said, turning toward them. “Perfect timing.”

Sarah immediately wrapped Annie in a hug. “Hi!”

Bill eyed her. “You planning to make it to midnight?”

Sarah lifted her chin. “Obviously.”

Joel snorted softly as he shrugged off his coat. “We’ll see about that.”

You all settled around the table soon after, the meal already laid out; a brisket Bill had been working on all afternoon, roasted vegetables, potatoes, bread, and a salad Annie insisted made the whole thing respectable.

Conversation started easily, the way it always did here. Tommy told Bill about Christmas at Maria’s family house while Frank asked questions that sounded suspiciously like mild interrogation. Annie laughed quietly and passed dishes down the table while you filled everyone’s glasses.

Joel sat beside you, his chair angled slightly toward you without him noticing. At some point during dinner his hand found yours under the table, fingers resting loosely around yours while he listened to Tommy’s story. He didn’t seem aware he’d done it.

Sarah talked almost as much as Tommy, which was saying something. She described her Christmas presents again, asked Frank how fireworks actually worked, and declared she was definitely staying awake until midnight this time.

Bill gave her a long look. “You say that every year.”

“This year I mean it.”

Joel leaned back slightly in his chair. “She’s got determination.”

“She’s got about ten-thirty, tops,” Tommy said.

Sarah pointed her fork at him. “Rude.”

You laughed softly beside Joel. When you leaned forward to grab the bread basket, his hand slid automatically to the small of your back for a second before returning to the table. 

Dinner carried on easily after that; Bill and Frank debating something about tools, Tommy occasionally stirring the pot just to see what would happen, Sarah trying very hard to look wide awake even when her blinks were getting slower.

It was the kind of evening that didn’t need much effort; warm food, familiar voices, the soft hum of the house around them. In a short while, the brisket had been carved down to almost nothing, the roasted vegetables were disappearing quickly, and the bread basket had already made two full rounds of the table.

Tommy was halfway through telling another version of his Christmas-at-Maria’s-family story when Frank interrupted him.

“You left out the part where her aunt grilled you about your job for twenty minutes.”

Tommy groaned. “She was nice about it.”

Bill snorted. “No one interrogates politely.”

Joel chuckled quietly beside you. His hand rested loosely around the back of your chair, his fingers brushing absentmindedly against your shoulder every now and then as the conversation moved around you.

You leaned slightly into him when you laughed at something Frank said, and Joel automatically turned his head toward you, smiling faintly without even realizing it.

At the far end of the table Annie watched you two for a moment, amused, before returning her attention to the conversation.

Eventually the plates were mostly empty and Frank stood to gather a few dishes. “Dessert in a minute,” he announced.

“No rush,” Bill said, leaning back slightly in his chair.

Frank disappeared briefly into the kitchen and came back holding a small envelope. He didn’t say anything at first. He just walked around the table and set it gently in front of you.

You looked down at it, puzzled. “What’s this?”

Frank gave a small shrug. “Something for you two.”

Joel frowned slightly. “You didn’t have to-”

“Open it,” Bill said.

You glanced at Joel, then slid a finger under the flap and opened the envelope. You pulled out a folded sheet of paper. For a second you didn’t say anything. Then your eyes widened.

“Wait…”

Joel leaned slightly toward you. “What?”

You turned the paper so he could see.

Joel stared at it. “…You’re kidding.”

Frank leaned casually against the counter. “Nope.”

You looked back at the paper again. “Hawaii?”

Bill cleared his throat.

“Ten days,” Frank added.

You blinked. “You-”

Joel looked at them both. “You bought us a honeymoon?”

Bill shrugged like it was no big deal. “Well,” he said, “you two were talkin’ about skipping it and doing that little San Francisco weekend instead.”

Your eyes softened. “That was just because weddings are expensive.”

Frank waved a hand. “Exactly.”

Bill took a slow sip of his drink before speaking again. “You mentioned once,” he said, glancing toward you, “that if you ever got married you always pictured a honeymoon there.”

You stared at him. “I said that when I was like sixteen.”

Bill shrugged. “You’re my goddaughter. Still remembered.”

For a moment the table went quiet. Your eyes were suspiciously bright now. Joel was still looking at the paper like he wasn’t sure it was real.

Tommy leaned back in his chair slowly. “…Wow, Bill...” He looked at Bill. “…Was that…” He squinted slightly. “…Sentimental?”

Bill didn’t even look at him. “Don’t start.”

Tommy looked around the table.b“I think that was sentimental.”

Frank smirked. “You’re ruining the moment.”

You finally laughed softly, shaking your head a little.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, moving to give them a hug.

Joel nodded once beside her, still a little stunned. “…Yeah,” he added. “That’s… real generous.”

Bill waved it off with one hand. “You’re family. And you deserve it.”

Tommy leaned toward Joel. “You better take her somewhere nice after that.”

Joel glanced at you. “Think I got the message.”

Sarah, who had been staring at the paper upside down from her seat, suddenly looked up. “Wait.” She pointed. “So you’re going to Hawaii?”

You smiled at her. “Looks like it.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “That’s way cooler than San Francisco.”

Bill smirked. “Kid’s got taste.”

The conversation slowly picked back up after that, dessert appearing a few minutes later while the warmth of the moment lingered quietly around the table.

And Joel, still holding your hand under the table, felt like the luckiest man in Texas.

***************

The last minute before midnight always felt longer than it really was. You had all drifted out into the yard together, coats pulled tighter against the cold. Frank stood near the small lineup of fireworks he had arranged near the fence, lighter already in hand. Bill hovered nearby in the supervisory role he seemed to believe he’d invented.

Tommy stood with Sarah, who was buzzing now with a second wind that had appeared out of nowhere.

Joel leaned against the porch railing beside you. Without thinking about it, his arm had settled around your waist again, pulling you lightly against his side. You slipped your hand into the front of his coat, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater.

Frank glanced at his watch. “Thirty seconds.”

Bill raised his voice. “Alright!”

Everyone gathered a little closer together in the yard. Joel’s hand found yours almost automatically. Your fingers laced together easily, like they had a hundred times before.

Bill began counting. “Ten!”

Sarah jumped a little as she joined in. “NINE!”

Tommy’s voice carried across the yard. “EIGHT!”

You squeezed Joel’s hand.

“SEVEN!”

Joel looked down at you then, properly. The porch light caught the soft lines of your face, your breath faint in the cool air, the way your eyes were already smiling before midnight had even arrived.

“SIX!”

Frank crouched near the fireworks.

“FIVE!”

You tipped your head back slightly to look up at him.

“FOUR!”

Joel felt that familiar warmth move through his chest again, the same quiet certainty that had been there all year.

“THREE!”

He lifted his free hand and brushed a stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“TWO!”

Sarah shouted the number like it was a victory cry.

“ONE!”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

At that exact moment Frank lit the first fuse. The rocket screamed into the sky and exploded above you in a burst of bright gold and red, scattering sparks across the dark Texas night.

But Joel didn’t see it. He had already pulled you closer. His hand slid to the back of your neck as he kissed you. The kind of kiss that made the rest of the world fade out for a second.

You laughed softly into it at first, surprised, your hands moving up into his coat to hold onto him. Then you leaned into him fully, kissing him back with the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with fireworks or celebrations.

Behind you the sky cracked open again with another explosion of light. Someone, probably Tommy, shouted something about the next rocket. Sarah whooped somewhere nearby.

Joel barely noticed. He rested his forehead against yours for a moment after the kiss, 

“Happy New Year,” he murmured quietly.

You smiled up at him, eyes bright. “Happy New Year.”

Another firework burst above you, painting the yard in flashes of blue and gold.

Then Sarah’s voice cut through the moment. “I MADE IT!”

Joel laughed under his breath and pulled you a little closer against his side as the fireworks kept lighting up the sky.

The house had somehow become the topic of the evening. Every family gathering over the last few months had eventually circled back to it. The renovation was finally about to begin, which meant everyone wanted updates on paint colors, flooring samples, contractors, budgets, and a hundred other details that had consumed your life for the better part of a year.

You didn’t really mind. The house was your dream house. It sat on a few acres just outside Austin, with a wide front porch and enough room for everything you’d imagined your future family might need someday. After your grandmother left it for you in her will, you’d spent years saving for the renovation to update it and make it just perfect, and now that it was time, every decision felt important.

Unfortunately, most of those decisions seemed to belong exclusively to you.

“…and if we move the wall back another foot, we’d have room for a bigger island.”

Your sister leaned forward immediately. “Oh, definitely do that.”

Across from you, your aunt disagreed. “No, don’t. Bigger isn’t always better.”

A chorus of opinions followed.

You laughed, shaking your head before turning toward your husband. “What do you think?”

For a second, he looked up from his phone.

“The island.” You smiled. “Should we make it bigger?”

His attention flicked briefly toward you, then back to the screen. “Whatever you want, dear.”

The answer arrived so automatically that you weren’t even sure he’d processed the question.

Around the table, several people smiled. Your aunt gave an exaggerated sigh. “See? That’s what I need.”

A few heads nodded in agreement.

“What?”

She pointed toward your husband. “That. A man who doesn’t argue about every little thing.”

More laughter spread around the table.

“Seriously,” your cousin agreed. “You’re lucky.”

The word lodged somewhere behind your ribs. Lucky. Your husband was already scrolling again, his attention gone before the conversation had even moved on.

“He lets you do whatever you want,” your aunt continued. “If I told my husband I wanted to knock down a wall, he’d spend six months debating it.”

Everyone seemed amused by the idea. Everyone except you.

You managed a smile because it was easier than explaining. Easier than saying that being ignored wasn’t the same thing as being supported. Easier than admitting that you would have welcomed an argument at this point. An opinion. A preference. Anything that suggested he cared about the life the two of you were supposedly building together.

The wall layout was yours. The flooring was yours. The appliances were yours. The paint colors were yours. The furniture was yours. Sometimes it felt as though the entire dream belonged to you alone.

Your cousin was still talking. “I swear, if mine let me choose everything, I’d be thrilled.”

You gave a small laugh at the appropriate moment. Nobody noticed how tired it sounded… Because from the outside, it looked wonderful. You had a beautiful house. A husband who never fought you on decisions. A future everyone assumed was taking shape exactly the way you’d planned.

You glanced across the table again. Your husband’s gaze remained fixed on his phone. Whatever was happening there clearly held more interest than discussions about the home you’d spent years dreaming about.

For a moment, a thought surfaced that you immediately tried to push away. If you sold the house tomorrow, would he even care? The question unsettled you enough that you reached for your wine glass. Of course he would…  He had to. This was your future. Your marriage. Your home.

Yet as the conversation flowed around you and your husband continued scrolling through his phone, you found yourself wondering when he’d last sounded excited about any of it… You couldn’t remember.

The realization lingered long after dinner ended, following you all the way home, where the plans for your dream house sat neatly organized on the kitchen counter. You stared at them while your husband disappeared upstairs without a second glance.

*******

Monday arrived with the kind of nervous excitement that had kept you awake half the night.

The renovation had been planned for so long that it hardly felt real anymore. For months, the project had existed as sketches, samples, measurements, and endless decisions. Now there were trucks in the driveway, equipment being unloaded, and actual walls that were about to come down.

You stood on the porch with a mug of coffee wrapped between both hands as a pickup rolled to a stop. The driver’s door opened first. Joel climbed out, already carrying a folder under one arm. You’d met him three times before this. Once when he’d come out to measure the house. Again when he’d spent nearly two hours walking through every room while you explained what you wanted. And a third time when you’d signed the contract after interviewing several different companies and somehow finding yourself trusting his judgment more than anyone else’s.

Tommy emerged from the passenger side a second later. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

A grin spread across his face as he looked at the house.

“Still standing.”

“Barely.”

“Good. Gives us something to do.”

You laughed.

The crew began unloading tools while Joel crossed the driveway toward you.

“You ready?”

The question made you glance back at the house.

“No.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Good answer.”

“Ask me again in six months.”

“Then you’ll tell me no for different reasons.”

“Probably.”

He nodded toward the front door.

“Let’s take one last look before everybody starts making holes in things.”

Together, you headed inside.

Within minutes, plans were spread across the kitchen island while crew members moved in and out carrying equipment.

“Okay, so this wall is coming down.”

You pointed to the blueprint.

“And I’d like the opening a little wider than we originally discussed. Not much. Maybe another foot.”

Joel studied the drawing.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Relief immediately softened your shoulders.

“Really?”

“Mm.”

He looked toward the wall in question.

“Might require moving one electrical line, but I’d rather do that now than have you regret it later.”

“Exactly.”

The front door opened. You looked up automatically.

Mark came downstairs while buttoning the cuff of his shirt, laptop bag hanging from one shoulder. He made it halfway into the kitchen before slowing. His eyes moved from you to the plans spread across the island. Then to Joel. Then Tommy. Then to the crew carrying equipment through the house.

“Oh.” A faint frown appeared. “Today’s the day?”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Your smile faltered for the briefest moment. “Yeah.”

For a second, he looked genuinely surprised. “Right.” One hand ran through his hair. “Sorry. I completely forgot.”

Nobody said anything. Joel’s expression remained neutral. Tommy suddenly seemed fascinated by the tape measure in his hand.

You forced a small laugh. “It’s okay.”

And maybe it should have been. People forgot things. Work got busy. Life happened.

Except this wasn’t a dentist appointment or a dinner reservation. This was the renovation. The thing you’d spent months talking about. The thing you’d discussed over breakfast, over dinner, while watching television, and lying in bed at night. The thing that seemed to occupy half your thoughts. Yet somehow he’d forgotten it was starting today.

Mark stepped closer to the island. “So what’s first?”

The question sounded sincere. That almost made it worse.

You pointed to the plans. “We’re opening this wall up.”

“Huh.” He looked at the drawing for a few seconds before nodding. “That’ll look nice.”

Joel glanced down at the plans. “She’s thinking about widening the opening another foot.”

Mark followed the line on the blueprint. “If that’s what you want, sounds good.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “You’ve spent way more time thinking about this house than I have.”

The comment wasn’t meant to be hurtful. Everyone seemed to take it as a joke. You smiled too. Mostly out of habit. Because the truth was that somewhere along the way, ‘you’ve got better taste than me’ had become ‘you decide’.

And ‘you decide’ had eventually become ‘I don’t need to be involved’.

Mark checked his watch and muttered a curse under his breath. “I’m late.”

You weren’t surprised. He usually was. He grabbed his travel mug from the counter before turning toward Joel.

“Sorry I’m disappearing on day one.”

“We’ll still be here tomorrow,” Joel replied.

That earned a brief laugh. “Fair.” Mark adjusted the strap of his laptop bag. “My office is down the hall.”

Joel nodded.

“We’ll seal everything off before demolition starts.”

“Appreciate it.” Mark pointed vaguely toward the hallway. “Just don’t fill the place with drywall dust. That’s where I hide during conference calls.”

Tommy chuckled. Joel smiled politely. You did too. Then Mark stepped toward you. The kiss landed on your forehead. Automatic enough that neither of you had to think about it.

By the time he pulled away, he was already reaching for his keys.

“See you tonight.”

“Bye.”

The front door closed behind him. A few moments later, his car disappeared down the driveway.

The kitchen grew quiet enough that you suddenly became aware of how warm your coffee mug felt in your hands.

You looked back down at the plans.

“So.” Your finger moved to another section. “I was thinking about adding pull-out shelving in the pantry.”

Joel followed the line of your finger.

“That’s a good idea.”

“If you’ve got the space, you’ll use it,” Tommy added.

You smiled. The knot that had settled in your chest eased slightly.

Outside, someone started up a saw. The renovation had officially begun. And although you couldn’t have explained why, it felt strangely easier to think about pantry shelves than the fact that your husband had forgotten the day your dream house finally started becoming real.

****

Joel had renovated houses for most of his adult life. Some projects stayed with him. Most didn’t. You tore out a wall, replaced some flooring, updated a kitchen, collected a check, and moved on to the next job. After a while, the houses blurred together.

This one should have done the same. Instead, three months later, Joel could have walked through the entire floor plan without looking at a single blueprint.

He knew where every electrical line ran, which floorboards creaked in the hallway, and exactly how many times you’d changed your mind about cabinet hardware before finally settling on a choice. The fact that he knew that last detail at all was something Tommy found endlessly amusing.

“You know that’s weird, right?”

Joel continued checking measurements. “What is?”

“The fact that you know more about this woman’s house than your own.”

Joel didn’t bother looking up. “That’s called doin’ my job.”

“Mhm.”

“It is.”

Tommy leaned against a stack of drywall with the expression of a man who was enjoying himself far too much.

“You got opinions on her pantry.”

“I got opinions on everybody’s pantry.”

“Sure you do.”

The problem was that Tommy wasn’t entirely wrong. There was something unusually satisfying about this project, and a lot of that came down to you.

Most homeowners cared about the end result. Very few cared about the process. They picked things because they were trendy, expensive, or because somebody on television had told them they should. You thought about things. Every decision had a purpose behind it.

The expanded pantry wasn’t about resale value. It was because you’d grown up in a house where storage always seemed to be in short supply. The reading nook beneath the front window existed because you’d always wanted one. The larger kitchen island wasn’t there because it looked impressive in a magazine. You wanted enough space for family dinners, holiday baking, and the life you imagined unfolding inside the house years from now.

You were building a home, not a showroom. Joel respected that. More than he probably should.

Living through a renovation wasn’t easy, yet somehow you’d managed to stay remarkably cheerful through most of it. Every morning, you emerged from whichever corner of the house wasn’t currently being demolished, coffee in hand and plans already forming in your head.

By the second month, you’d become part of the crew’s routine. Not literally, nobody would ever mistake you for a contractor. But there was rarely a day when you weren’t standing beside Joel discussing measurements, paint samples, shelving options, or whatever new idea had occurred to you overnight.

Unlike many homeowners he’d worked with, you actually listened when he explained why something wouldn’t work. If he suggested a better solution, you considered it instead of treating every recommendation like a personal challenge. It made the entire project easier. Unfortunately, Tommy had noticed. Which meant Joel never heard the end of it.

One afternoon, you appeared in the doorway carrying a folder of flooring samples while Joel was finishing trim work in the living room.

Tommy saw you first.

“Oh, there she is.” Joel kept working. “You gonna pretend you weren’t wondering where she’d gone?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Joel.”

“I wasn’t.”

Tommy’s grin widened. “You’ve looked toward that hallway six times in the last ten minutes.”

Joel considered several responses, but none of them would improve the situation. So he kept working while Tommy laughed himself into a near collapse against the wall.

The crush irritated him. He was far too old for this nonsense. More importantly, you were married. That should have been the end of it. Yet every week seemed to provide another reason for him to like you.

The fact that your husband was a fucking idiot only made everything worse. Mark wasn’t openly rude. Joel would have understood rude. What he couldn’t quite understand was how detached the man seemed from a project that consumed so much of your life.

Over the months, he saw him often enough. Most encounters lasted only a few minutes before work pulled him elsewhere, but every interaction left Joel with the same impression: Mark occupied the house, you lived in it. There was a difference.

One evening, you’d spent nearly half an hour debating countertop samples spread across the temporary folding table serving as your kitchen. After eliminating option after option, you’d finally pointed to one of them.

“Mark likes the darker one.”

Joel looked up. “He does?”

You smiled. “Yeah.” The answer sounded obvious to you. “He picked it.”

And for reasons Joel couldn’t entirely explain, that surprised him. Because it was one of the first times he’d heard your husband express a strong opinion about any part of the renovation.

The realization stayed with him longer than it should have. Maybe because it reminded him that marriages looked different from the inside than they did from the outside. Maybe because it was easier to be annoyed with a stranger than admit he didn’t actually know anything about your relationship. Still, the feeling lingered.

Not that Mark was necessarily a bad husband. Just that whenever something exciting happened in the house, you seemed to experience it alone.

The worst part was that the renovation itself wasn’t helping. Every week transformed another section of the house. Walls disappeared. Rooms opened up. Light reached places it hadn’t before. The home slowly became what you’d always imagined, and every time a new stage was completed, your face lit up with the same excitement you’d had on the day demolition began.

Most people eventually stopped noticing the work. You never did. You noticed every detail, every improvement, every inch of progress. And every time you smiled at something you’d dreamed into existence months earlier, Joel felt an unreasonable amount of satisfaction.

One evening, after you’d spent twenty minutes enthusiastically discussing the built-in bookshelves before finally heading upstairs, Tommy waited until you were out of earshot.

Then he looked at Joel. “You got it bad.”

Joel sighed. “Would you shut up?”

“Nope.” Tommy’s grin only widened. “You’re building her a dream house.”

“I’m building a house.”

“You remember what kind of cabinet handles she picked.”

Joel immediately regretted responding… Because Tommy’s expression brightened with victory.

“There it is.”

“Tommy.”

“The woman changes her mind one time and you remember every detail.”

“Three times.” The words escaped before Joel could stop them. Tommy stared at him. Joel closed his eyes. “Damn it.”

The laughter that followed echoed through the unfinished living room while Joel seriously considered whether homicide between brothers was still illegal in Texas.

******

Joel had spent most of the afternoon installing shelving in what would eventually become the mudroom. It was the kind of work he liked. Simple. Precise. Something he could focus on without having to think too much.

The rest of the crew had already left for the day, leaving only the sound of a drill, the occasional thud from upstairs, and the distant hum of the air conditioning struggling to keep up with the Texas heat.

He heard your voices before he registered the words.  At first, he paid no attention. Couples argued. It wasn’t his business. The house echoed more than usual with half the walls still exposed, which meant conversations carried farther than they normally would.

Joel reached for another screw and deliberately turned on the drill. The noise drowned everything out for a few seconds. Then it stopped… And so did the argument. For approximately three seconds.

“What do you want me to say?” Mark’s voice carried clearly from the kitchen.

Joel closed his eyes. Damn it. He reached for a measuring tape. Focused on the shelving. Focused very hard. Unfortunately, the house had other plans.

“I don’t want you to say anything.” Your voice sounded strained. “I want you to give a shit.”

Mark laughed. A short, frustrated sound. “Seriously?”

Joel picked up a hammer. Anything loud. Anything.

“You got exactly what you wanted.”

The hammer stopped halfway through a swing.

“You picked the layout.”

Thunk.

“You picked the cabinets.”

Thunk.

“The flooring.”

Thunk.

“The countertops.”

Thunk.

“What more do you want?”

The hammer suddenly felt ridiculous in his hand. Because even over the noise, he could hear the hurt in your voice.

“That’s not even the point!”

“Then what is the fucking point?”

Joel stared at the unfinished wall in front of him. 

The conversation should have ended there. Instead, it shifted.

“You don’t give a damn about any of it!” The words emerged quieter this time, which somehow made them easier to hear. “You barely know what’s happening in your own house!”

He heard a sharp exhale, and then Mark again. “Jesus Christ. The fucking house isn’t the problem.”

The sentence hung in the air.

When you spoke again, your voice sounded thinner. “It isn’t.”

Joel wished very badly that he couldn’t hear this.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

The words came from Mark. Firm and final. Silence stretched between you. Then you answered.

“You mean the baby?”

Nobody spoke. The quiet that followed felt heavier than the argument itself.

Finally Mark sighed. A long, irritated sound. “Yeah.”

You laughed once. A sharp, disbelieving sound. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

Joel heard movement. A chair scraping against the floor.

“I think we need to stop.”

“Stop trying?”

The words came out flat. As though he were discussing a subscription service. Not the thing you’d spent years hoping for.

“Jesus Christ, Mark.”

“What?”

“What!?” Your voice rose. “You don’t get to drop that into a conversation like it’s nothing!”

“I’m saying it’s adding stress that we don’t need.”

The answer came immediately. Like he’d rehearsed it. Joel’s grip tightened around the drill in his hand.

“Stress?” You sounded stunned.

“Yes. Stress.”

“Mark, you’re barely even here!”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Joel closed his eyes.

“Seriously.” Your voice cracked. “You’re gone constantly.”

“I work.”

“You disappear!”

“I work!”

“No!” The answer came fast and certain. “You leave before I wake up, come home after I’ve gone to bed, cancel plans every other week, and somehow you’re standing there telling me that trying for a baby is what’s stressful?”

The kitchen fell silent.

Then Mark laughed. “You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Turn everything around.”

Joel heard footsteps. Closer.

“You want to know what’s exhausting?” Mark continued. “You never let anything go.”

“Excuse me?”

“This.” Mark gestured. Joel could hear it in the movement. “This conversation.” His voice rose. “Every conversation.”

“You brought it up!”

“Because somebody has to!”

Your voice shook. “We could have talked about this.”

“We are talking about it.”

“No, Mark.”

Joel had never heard you sound like that before. Hurt.

“Talking would’ve happened six months ago.” Silence. “Talking would’ve happened before you started avoiding me.”

The words seemed to hit something. Mark’s voice hardened immediately. “I am not avoiding you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You barely even touch me anymore!”

The kitchen became so quiet Joel could hear the hum of the refrigerator. When Mark answered, his voice came out sharper than before.

“Because every damn thing turns into this!”

Your breath caught. “What does that even mean?”

“It means exactly what I said.” His frustration finally spilled over. “You know what? I’m just sick of it.”

“Sick of what??”

“Tired of everything revolving around a baby.”

Joel shut his eyes.

“Everything? Mark, we’ve barely even tried for a few months! You’re almost never here to try anyway!”

Silence.

“You’re just twisting everything, again.”

“Mark-”

“No.” He cut you off. “You want the truth?” The house seemed to shrink. “I can’t do this. You’ll make this the center of your entire life, just like you did with the house.”

The words were cruel. Joel knew it. The moment they left Mark’s mouth, he knew it. And judging by the silence that followed, so did you.

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded small. “I want a family.”

“I know.”

“With you.”

Something shifted. Something ugly. Because Mark didn’t answer immediately.

Joel found himself staring at the unfinished wall in front of him. Waiting. And when Mark finally spoke, his voice carried none of the softness that sentence deserved.

“Well, maybe it’s time to accept that you can’t get everything you want.”

The silence afterward felt endless. A moment later Mark appeared in the hallway. Joel barely had time to straighten before he walked past.

Your husband looked immaculate. Pressed shirt. Expensive watch. Laptop bag over one shoulder. The image of a successful professional heading off to another meeting.

He didn’t seem embarrassed or upset. Didn’t even seem to notice Joel standing ten feet away.

“See you tomorrow.”

The words were tossed over his shoulder toward the house in general. Then he was gone. The front door slammed. A car engine started.

Silence settled again. This time it stayed.

Joel stood motionless for several seconds. Part of him knew he should keep working. Another part knew he should leave. Instead, he found himself glancing toward the kitchen. Just once.

You were standing on the opposite side of the island. One hand braced against the countertop. The other pressed against your stomach. Your eyes were closed. And judging by the way your chest rose and fell, you were concentrating very hard on breathing normally.

Joel looked away immediately. Not because he didn’t care. Because he did. Far more than he should.

He stared at the shelving in front of him and tried to focus on the measurements. Three and a half inches. That was the gap he was supposed to be checking. Three and a half inches. For some reason, the number refused to stay in his head.

What stayed instead was the sound of your voice when you’d said with you. 

Joel had gone into plenty of homes over the years. He’d seen marriages at their best and marriages at their worst. Couples fought over budgets, timelines, paint colors, and things that made no sense to anyone except the people involved. This hadn’t sounded like that. This sounded like a woman trying desperately to save a conversation while her husband was already halfway out the door.

The realization sat heavily in his chest. He hated it. Hated that he’d heard any of it. Hated that he was thinking about it at all. And most of all, hated the flicker of anger that rose every time he remembered Mark’s voice.

“Maybe it’s time to accept that you can’t get everything you want.”

Jesus Christ. Who said that to their wife? Who said that and then grabbed their car keys and left? Joel dragged a hand over his face. None of it was his business. That was the important thing. Not his marriage. Not his wife. Not his life.

The thought should have settled the matter. It didn’t. Because when he finally risked another glance toward the kitchen, you were still standing there exactly where he’d left you, gripping the edge of the island as though it were the only thing holding you upright.

Joel didn’t think twice and walked in, stopped beside the plans spread across the island.

“Question.”

You looked up. For a brief moment, he could still see the argument written across your face. Not tears. Something harder than that. The effort it was taking not to cry. Then your expression smoothed into something more neutral.

“What?”

“The mudroom cabinets.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t exactly urgent either. Joel already knew the answer before he asked.

“The ones near the garage?”

“Yeah.” He flipped open his notebook and glanced down at it as though he were checking measurements. “If we shift them over six inches, we’d have room for a bench.”

Your attention immediately dropped to the plans. “A bench?”

Joel nodded. “For shoes.”

You frowned thoughtfully and studied the drawing for a few moments, following the measurements with your finger. “Could we still fit the storage cubbies?”

“There’d be enough room.”

“Huh.”

The silence that followed felt different from the one he’d walked into. Lighter.

You leaned over the plans. “That’d actually be useful.”

Joel shrugged. “Thought so.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted onto safer ground. For the next several minutes, the two of you discussed bench dimensions, coat hooks, storage cubbies, and whether the bench should extend all the way beneath the window. None of it was particularly important, but that was precisely the point.

Sometimes normal conversation was a kindness.

Eventually, a small laugh escaped you. “I can’t believe we’re spending this much time discussing where people put their shoes.”

Joel snorted. “You’d be surprised.”

“No, seriously.” You pointed at the plans. “We’ve spent at least twenty minutes on this.”

“Closer to forty.”

That earned another laugh, this one sounding a little more genuine than the first.

The tension in the room eased almost imperceptibly. You still looked tired, and whatever hurt Mark had left behind hadn’t disappeared, but for the first time since he’d walked into the kitchen, you looked like yourself again.

Joel closed the notebook. “Anyway, I’ll move it over.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He had almost reached the doorway when your voice stopped him.

“Joel.”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

The gratitude on your face was subtle enough that somebody else might not have noticed it. Joel did.

“Thanks.”

You didn’t explain what you were thanking him for. He didn’t ask. Because the bench wasn’t really the point.

“Don’t thank me yet.” A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “You haven’t seen my coat hook ideas.”

You rolled your eyes immediately. “Oh, God.”

“That’s what everybody says.”

The sound that left you this time was unmistakably a laugh.

When Joel left the kitchen a few moments later, the argument was still there. Nothing had been fixed. Nothing had been solved. But you weren’t standing alone at the island trying to remember how to breathe anymore, and for the moment, that felt like enough.

************

The house kept getting better. That was the strange part. With every passing week, another piece of it fell into place. Fresh paint replaced exposed drywall. Cabinets appeared where there had once been empty framing. Light fixtures went up, floors were finished, and the kitchen that had existed for months as measurements on paper finally began looking like the room you’d imagined from the beginning.

The house was becoming beautiful. You weren’t.

The realization crept up on Joel gradually enough that he almost missed it at first. Living through a renovation wasn’t exactly relaxing, and he’d spent enough years in construction to know that homeowners often looked worn down by the end of a project. 

For a while, he told himself you were simply tired. Then he assumed work must be busy. After that, he stopped trying to explain it away. The months kept passing. You kept looking worse.

The dark circles beneath your eyes grew more noticeable with every week, and there were mornings when it looked as though you hadn’t slept at all. You still smiled. You still thanked people. Every now and then, you still brought coffee for the crew or got excited about some new detail that had finally been completed. The difference was that the excitement never seemed to last.

Joel noticed it most in the moments when you thought nobody was paying attention. The second a conversation ended, your shoulders would sag slightly, as though holding yourself together required more effort than it used to. Sometimes he’d glance up from his work and find you staring out a window or into space, your expression distant enough that he wondered where your thoughts had gone.

Meanwhile, Mark appeared less and less.

At first, Joel assumed your schedules simply weren’t lining up. The man worked long hours and traveled often enough that missing him for a few days wasn’t particularly unusual. Eventually, though, Joel started realizing entire weeks could pass without seeing him. Maybe that was normal… Maybe it wasn’t.

What Joel knew for certain was that the house was nearing completion, and most people in Mark’s position would’ve been counting down the days. Instead, he seemed almost entirely absent from the process.

One afternoon, Tommy climbed down from a ladder, stretched his back, and glanced toward the driveway.

“Haven’t seen Prince Charming in a while.”

Joel continued measuring trim without looking up. “Mm.”

Tommy snorted. “That’s my professional observation.”

“Good thing nobody pays you for your observations.”

“They should.”

Joel rolled his eyes and returned to work.

The truth was that he’d noticed too. He just preferred not to think about it. Because every time he did, he found himself looking toward you. And every time he looked toward you, he saw somebody trying very hard to convince the world she was fine.

The house, meanwhile, had become something special. Even Joel had to admit that.

The reading nook beneath the front window had turned out exactly the way you’d envisioned it. The kitchen felt open and welcoming without losing its warmth. The built-in shelves stretched beautifully across the living room wall, and the mudroom bench had become one of Joel’s favorite details despite Tommy mocking him relentlessly for caring so much about a bench.

Months earlier, the place had been a construction site. Now it looked like a home. The kind people dreamed about. The kind people imagined raising families in. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Especially not lately.

One afternoon, Joel arrived earlier than most of the crew. The house was unusually quiet, enough so that he initially wondered whether you’d already left for work.

Then he stepped into the living room. The new sofa had been delivered a few days earlier and sat facing the fireplace, surrounded by furniture that was finally beginning to make the space feel lived-in.

You were sitting there alone. A thick folder rested open in your lap. Although your eyes were fixed on the pages, it didn’t look as though you’d turned one in a while.

For a moment, Joel considered backing out of the room. Something about the scene felt private. Then you looked up. The movement was slow enough that it almost seemed as though you’d forgotten somebody else was there.

And Jesus. You looked exhausted. Not the kind of tiredness that disappeared after a good night’s sleep. The kind that settled into a person’s bones and stayed there.

Joel frowned before he could stop himself. “You alright?”

Your gaze dropped back to the folder. For a second, he expected the usual answer. A smile. A joke. Some variation of ‘I’m fine’.

“Not really.”

The honesty of it surprised him enough that he took another step into the room. His eyes flicked toward the folder.

“What is it?” he asked.

Your fingers tightened around the folder. For several seconds, you didn’t answer. Joel remained where he was, close enough that walking away would have felt strange, far enough that it didn’t feel like he was intruding. The silence stretched between you while your eyes remained fixed on the papers in your lap.

Then you let out a laugh. Not because anything was funny. The sound escaped you the way a sigh might.

“Mark left.”

Something in your voice made Joel’s stomach tighten immediately. His eyes flicked toward the folder.

“What do you mean?”

You stared down at the papers for a moment longer before answering. “He left.”

The words sounded simple enough on their own. They weren’t. Joel frowned.

“For work?”

You laughed again. This time the sound cracked. “No.” Your fingers shifted against the edge of the folder. “I mean he left me.”

The realization hit him a second before you said it. “Oh.”

The room seemed to grow quieter.

You nodded once. “He packed a bag.” Your gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the papers. “He told me he wasn’t coming back.”

Joel felt something cold settle in his chest. The words weren’t dramatic. You weren’t crying. You weren’t shouting. For some reason, that made them worse.

“What happened?”

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded tired. The kind of tired that went deeper than sleep.

“He brought these.”

You held the folder out slightly. Joel looked down at it. Divorce papers. His jaw tightened immediately.

“When?”

“This morning.” You swallowed. “Before he left.”

Joel stared at the documents for a second before looking back at you. The exhaustion he’d been watching settle over you for months suddenly made a lot more sense.

“He just handed them to you?”

A faint smile touched your mouth. There was no humor in it.

“Pretty much.” The laugh that followed sounded brittle. “We had coffee.” You shook your head slightly. The disbelief was still there. “He sat at that table.” Your eyes drifted toward the dining room. “The one we spent three months arguing over.”

Joel remained silent.

“He drank his coffee.” The smile vanished. “Then he handed me divorce papers.”

The simplicity of it made Joel want to put his fist through a wall.

Instead, he asked quietly: “What did he say?”

You looked down again. The answer seemed to take effort. “He said he wasn’t happy.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly. Of course he did. People always seemed to find polite language when they were about to do something ugly.

“He said we’d grown apart.” The bitterness in your voice had finally surfaced. “He said we wanted different things.”

Joel didn’t trust himself to speak. The room fell quiet again.

Then you added: “He’s in love with someone else.”

There it was. The thing Joel had suspected for months without ever wanting to believe. Not because he thought highly of Mark. Because he knew how much hearing it would hurt.

His gaze stayed on you. “How long?”

Your shoulders rose and fell. “He says six months.” The answer came with a hollow smile. “Maybe.”

Joel frowned. “Maybe?”

You looked away. Toward the kitchen. Toward the beautiful house that had consumed nearly a year of your life.

“I don’t know.” The words came out quietly. “Honestly, I don’t know anything anymore.”

You rubbed at your forehead.

“He cheated before.” Joel froze. Your eyes remained on the floor. “Three years ago.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly. Not because affairs were unheard of. Because suddenly everything he’d witnessed over the past several months looked different. The exhaustion. The anxiety. The way you always seemed to be waiting for bad news.

“Not this woman,” you continued. “Someone else.”

Joel stared. “And you stayed.”

You laughed softly. “I loved him.” The answer was immediate. Simple. Honest. “I thought we fixed it.” For the first time since the conversation had begun, your voice cracked. “I thought we’d survived it.”

Joel looked away. Because there was something unbearable about the certainty with which you’d once believed that.

The silence stretched again. When you spoke next, your voice had grown even quieter.

“I spent months wondering what I was doing wrong.” Your fingers tightened around the folder. “Why he never came home.” The next sentence hurt even more. “Why he stopped touching me.”

Joel lowered his gaze. Not out of embarrassment. Because the pain in your voice was difficult to listen to.

“I thought it was stress.” A bitter laugh escaped you. “I thought it was work.”

Neither of you spoke for several seconds. Then you swallowed. And finally said the thing that seemed to hurt most.

“She’s pregnant.”

Joel felt every muscle in his body go still. You weren’t looking at him anymore.

Your gaze remained fixed on the papers in your lap.

“He’s leaving because she’s pregnant.”

For a moment, all Joel could think about was the argument he’d overheard months ago. The baby. The months of trying. The way you’d sounded when you’d said with you.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Mark wanted to stop trying because he already knew.

A slow wave of anger settled in Joel’s chest. Not the explosive kind. The cold kind. The kind that stayed.

You let out another humorless laugh. “The best part?”

Joel wasn’t sure there could possibly be a worse part.

You looked up anyway. Your eyes were shining now. “They’re getting married.”

He stared at you. You stared back. The fight seemed to leave you all at once. Your shoulders sagged. The folder slipped closed in your lap.

And when you spoke again, your voice sounded almost unbearably fragile.

“I spent months trying to have a baby with my husband.” Joel’s chest tightened at your voice. “And apparently all he needed was someone else.”

The words hung in the air between you. Joel’s gaze drifted around the room. The room you’d designed. The room you’d fought for. The room you’d spent months dreaming into existence.

Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of you. The shelves. The paint. The furniture. The details nobody else would ever notice.

And all he could think was that Mark was an idiot. A complete fucking idiot.

The feeling hit him so hard it almost surprised him. Because the truth was that Joel had spent months forcing himself not to think about you. Every time he caught himself looking for your truck in the driveway, every time he found himself wanting to tell you something before anyone else, every time Tommy made one of his stupid comments, he’d reminded himself of the same thing.

You were married. That should have been enough. For a long time, it had been.

But sitting here now, listening to you talk about a husband who barely came home, a mistress, a pregnancy, and divorce papers dropped on your kitchen table like a business transaction, Joel found that whatever patience he’d had left for Mark had finally run out.

You were still staring at the folder. Still blaming yourself. Still looking for reasons.

And suddenly he couldn’t stand it anymore. “He’s a damn fool.”

Your head lifted. Joel met your gaze. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but there was something else mixed into it now. Something he’d spent months trying not to acknowledge.

“That man is a damn fool.”

You stared at him. Then you gave a small, humorless laugh. “You don’t have to say that.”

“Yeah.” Joel leaned forward slightly. “I do.” His voice had gone rough. “Because I’ve been listenin’ to you talk for ten minutes and all I can think is that he’s out of his goddamn mind.”

Something flickered across your face. Surprise. Disbelief. Maybe both.

Joel dragged a hand across his jaw. He should stop talking. He knew that. Instead he heard himself continue.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been?” 

Your brows pulled together. “How hard what’s been?”

Joel laughed once. A short, disbelieving sound. “Not thinkin' ‘bout you.”

The silence that followed felt enormous.

The second the words left his mouth, Joel wanted them back. Not because they weren’t true. Because they were. You simply stared at him. And now that he’d said it, he found he couldn’t quite retreat.

“I tried.” His eyes stayed on yours. “For months.”

Your pulse jumped visibly in your throat and he noticed.

“Every mornin’ I’d remind myself you’re married.” His mouth twisted. “Tommy thought it was hilarious.”

That earned the faintest flicker of a smile. Joel’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of it.

“You deserve somebody who actually sees you.” The words came quietly this time. Not angry anymore. Honest. “You know that?”

You looked away first. Joel wished you hadn’t. Because seeing the hurt on your face was difficult enough. Seeing hope was worse.

His voice dropped. “You’re smart.” 

You swallowed. “Joel…”

“You’re funny.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Stubborn as hell.” Despite everything, you let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. Joel shook his head. “And you’re beautiful.”

The room went still. The words hung there. Undeniable. Impossible to take back.

Your eyes found his again. And something changed. Enough that the air suddenly felt warmer. Enough that Joel became acutely aware of how close the two of you were.

Joel wished you hadn’t looked at him like that. Because for the first time, he wasn’t seeing surprise in your eyes… He was seeing the exact same thing he was feeling.

The silence stretched between you while the room seemed to shrink around it. Joel could feel his pulse in his throat, could see the uncertainty in your expression, the way you seemed caught between wanting to step back and wanting to do the exact opposite.

You took a step toward him. Joel didn’t move. He knew he should. He knew exactly why this was a terrible idea. You’d been handed divorce papers a few hours ago. You were hurting. Heartbroken. Vulnerable. Every sensible part of him was screaming at him to put some distance between the two of you.

Instead he just looked at you. And when you stopped in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your body, neither of you pretended anymore.

Your eyes dropped briefly to his mouth. Joel saw it. The look that followed left absolutely no room for misunderstanding. You weren’t backing away. Neither was he.

His hand had already started to lift. Not because he’d decided to touch you. Because every part of him was being pulled toward you.

Joel could already imagine exactly how it would happen. The slight tilt of your head. His hand against your cheek. The first kiss he’d spent months refusing to think about. For one suspended moment, it felt inevitable.

Then the front door slammed. The sound cracked through the house like a gunshot. Both of you jumped. A second later, Tommy’s voice echoed from the hallway.

“Joel?”

The moment shattered instantly. You stepped back so quickly it almost hurt to watch.

Joel scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yeah.”

Tommy rounded the corner carrying a roll of plans. His eyes moved from Joel to you. Then to the tiny distance separating you. Then back again.

“Oh.”

Joel closed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You were about to.”

Tommy’s grin appeared immediately.

You made a small, mortified sound, clutched the folder to your chest, and pointed vaguely toward the hallway. “I should go…”

Nobody knew where... Including you. But a second later you were gone. Joel watched you disappear around the corner before turning slowly toward his brother.

Tommy looked entirely too pleased with himself. And somehow, Joel knew his day had just gotten a whole lot worse.

***********

The divorce moved faster than you thought possible.

At first, you’d assumed it would take months. There would be delays, negotiations, arguments through lawyers, and endless waiting. Instead, Mark seemed determined to get through the process as quickly as humanly possible. Documents appeared almost immediately. Meetings were scheduled. Signatures were requested. Every week brought another reminder that the life you’d spent years building together was being dismantled piece by piece.

Part of you couldn’t shake the suspicion that he’d been planning this for much longer than you’d known. The thought hurt too much to examine for very long.

What made you truly angry, however, wasn’t the divorce. It was the house.

The house had never belonged to Mark. Not legally. Not in any meaningful sense. You’d inherited it from your grandmother years before you met him. The property had always been yours. Every lawyer involved knew it. Every document proved it. There was never a scenario where Mark was walking away with ownership. That didn’t stop him from trying.

The first time your lawyer mentioned it, you genuinely thought she’d misunderstood something.

“He wants the house.”

You stared at her. “What?”

She glanced down at her notes. “He knows it isn’t a realistic request, but he’s asking whether you’d consider selling it to him.”

You laughed. Not because it was funny. Because the audacity of it left you speechless.

The house. Your house. The house you’d inherited. The house he’d barely shown any interest in until another woman apparently decided she liked it. The realization came a few days later when your lawyer called again. This time she sounded irritated.

“His attorney says they were hoping to keep the property because his fiancée is very fond of it.”

You actually put the phone down for several seconds, just to make sure you’d heard correctly. Then you picked it back up.

“His what?”

“His fiancée.”

The word hit harder than it should have. Not because you hadn’t known he intended to marry her. Because hearing someone refer to her that way made everything feel horribly real.

You spent the rest of that week furious, because somewhere along the way, Mark had apparently decided he could take your marriage, your future, your years, and then walk away with your house too.

In the end, he got absolutely nothing. The house remained yours. The victory felt surprisingly hollow. By then, you’d already started realizing that winning and being happy weren’t remotely the same thing.

The day the divorce became official arrived on a Thursday morning. The hearing itself lasted less than an hour. Papers were reviewed. Signatures were confirmed. A judge said a handful of sentences that neither of you would remember five minutes later. Then it was over. Six years of marriage reduced to paperwork.

You left the building feeling oddly numb. For several minutes, you simply stood outside staring at the parking lot while people walked past carrying coffees and briefcases as though nothing important had happened.

Then you saw her. At first, she was just another woman sitting on a bench near the entrance. One hand rested absentmindedly against the curve of her stomach while she looked down at her phone.

Pregnant. Very pregnant. The sight alone was enough to make something twist painfully inside your chest. Then Mark walked toward her. And everything clicked into place.

You stopped moving. The woman looked up. Her face immediately brightened. Mark smiled back. The ease of it nearly knocked the breath out of you. There was no guilt. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just happiness. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

You watched him lean down to kiss her lips. Watched him crouch beside her to say something that made her laugh. Watched him rest a hand against her stomach with an expression you’d spent years hoping to see directed toward you.

And for one terrible second, all you could think was that he’d never looked that excited with you.

The realization followed you all the way home. After that, something inside you quietly gave up. Not in a dramatic way. You still got out of bed. Still answered emails. Still met with lawyers and signed forms and handled everything that needed handling.

But the hope was gone. The part of you that kept looking for an explanation finally stopped.

Meanwhile, the house continued inching toward completion. The crew was finishing the last major details. Paint touch-ups remained. Some built-ins still needed final work. Fixtures were being installed. Every week brought another piece of the vision you’d spent so long creating.

The closer it came to being finished, the harder it became to look at. Because now you could see exactly what it was supposed to have been.

Joel remained a constant presence through all of it. Not because he inserted himself into your life. If anything, he seemed determined to do the opposite.

After what had almost happened in the living room, neither of you mentioned it again. Not once. Which somehow made it impossible to forget.

Every conversation carried an awareness of it. Every glance. Every moment the two of you found yourselves alone. You couldn’t look at him without remembering how close you’d been. How badly you’d wanted him to kiss you.

The memory embarrassed you far more than it should have. Not because you regretted it… That would’ve been easier. The problem was that you’d wanted it before the divorce. Before the papers. Before any of this.

You’d been looking forward to seeing Joel long before your marriage officially ended, and the realization left you feeling ashamed in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

It didn’t matter that logic told you none of this had started because of Joel. It didn’t matter that Mark had already been halfway out the door. The guilt lingered anyway.

As a result, you became careful. Careful with your smiles. Careful with your conversations. Careful with your eyes whenever Joel happened to look at you for a little too long.

Sometimes you’d catch him watching you. Sometimes he’d catch you doing exactly the same thing. Neither of you ever acknowledged it. The unspoken thing between you continued growing anyway. Which was exactly why you knew you had to leave.

The thought arrived gradually. Then all at once. One evening, you found yourself sitting alone in the reading nook beneath the front window while late sunlight filled the room. The house looked beautiful. Not quite finished yet, but close enough that you could finally see it clearly.

The kitchen. The shelves. The living room. The porch. Everything was becoming exactly what you’d imagined.

You should have loved it. Instead, tears filled your eyes. Not because of Mark. Not even because of the divorce. Because every corner of the house contained a future that no longer existed.

A nursery that had never happened. Family dinners that would never happen. Christmas mornings that would never happen. The dream itself had become a ghost.

By the following week, you’d called a realtor. And when she asked whether you were sure, your answer came surprisingly easily.

“No.” You looked around the nearly finished house one last time. “But I think I need to be.”

The decision felt like another loss. The final one. Even though Mark wasn’t taking the house from you… You were the one letting it go. And somehow that hurt even more.

**********

The conversation started with cabinet hardware. Or maybe paint. Later, neither of you would remember. Only that Joel had come looking for you with a notebook in one hand and a question about some final detail that still needed your approval before the crew could finish that section of the house.

The project was close enough to completion now that most of the decisions were small ones. Trim. Fixtures. Finishing touches. The kind of details you’d once spent hours debating. Now you barely glanced at the samples.

“This one’s fine.”

Joel frowned. “You didn’t even look.”

You shrugged. “They both work.”

The answer clearly bothered him. Not because of the hardware. Because six months ago, you would’ve had opinions. Strong ones.

Joel set the samples down on the kitchen island. “The other one’s more durable.”

“Then do that one.”

His eyes narrowed. You busied yourself with the paperwork spread across the counter. Mostly because you knew exactly what expression he was making. The one that meant he was trying to figure out what was wrong. The one you’d become increasingly good at avoiding.

Then Joel nodded toward the stack of papers. “What’s all that?”

You glanced down. “Oh.” The answer came out far more casually than it felt. “Listing paperwork.”

Joel stared. “Listing?”

“The house.”

You continued signing your name. One signature. Then another. When no response came, you finally looked up.

Joel hadn’t moved. “The house?” he repeated.

You nodded. “I’m selling it.”

The words sounded strangely normal now. You’d said them enough times to realtors and lawyers that they’d begun losing their power. 

Apparently Joel hadn’t reached that stage yet. “What do you mean you’re selling it?”

“I mean exactly what I said.”

His expression remained fixed. “Why?”

You looked away first. Toward the living room. Toward the shelves. Toward the nearly finished house.

Then you shrugged. “It’s time.”

Joel actually laughed. Not because he found it funny. Because he clearly thought that answer was ridiculous. “Time for what?”

You folded the paperwork closed. The knot in your stomach had returned. “It just is.”

“No.” His answer came immediately. Firm. “You don’t spend almost a year building your dream house and then decide it’s time.”

The words landed harder than they should have,  because he was right. You had spent almost a year building it. Every room. Every detail. Every decision.

Joel stepped closer, but not enough to crowd you. Enough that you couldn’t pretend he wasn’t standing there.

“You love this place.” The statement wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “It’s a house.”

“Bullshit.”

Your eyes widened. Joel almost never swore around you. Apparently today was an exception.

“You love this place.” His gaze moved around the room. “The reading nook.” A finger pointed toward the front window. “The kitchen.” Then the island. “The shelves.” Then the living room. “I’ve listened to you talk about every square inch of this house for months.”

The frustration in his voice wasn’t really about the house. You both knew that.

“So tell me what’s actually going on.”

Silence stretched between you. Long enough that you considered lying. Long enough that you almost succeeded.

Then your eyes drifted toward the hallway. Toward the room that was supposed to have become a nursery one day. And suddenly you were too tired. Too tired to keep pretending. Your laugh sounded small, broken around the edges.

“It’s time to get real.” The words came out quietly. “So I’m going to sell it.”

Joel remained motionless. 

“It’s a beautiful house.” Your eyes wandered through the room. “The problem is that it was built for a life that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Something in Joel’s expression shifted.

You kept going anyway, because now that you’d started, stopping felt impossible. “I designed family dinners into this kitchen.” Your voice had softened. “I designed Christmas mornings into that living room.” You pointed vaguely toward the front of the house. “There was supposed to be a nursery.”

The admission hurt. Even now.

“There was supposed to be…” Your throat tightened. You looked away. “There was supposed to be a family.”

The room fell silent. When you spoke again, your voice sounded steadier. Not because you felt so… Because you’d repeated these thoughts enough times to yourself that they had become familiar.

“It’s time to stop pretending.” Joel didn’t interrupt you, and you appreciated it. “I need a place that fits the life I’m actually living.” The smile you managed felt tired, painfully so. “Not one that’s ready for the life I’m clearly not having.”

Joel’s gaze drifted slowly around the room; the shelves, the kitchen, the nearly finished house… Then it returned to you. And just… stared.

Not because he was judging you. Because he genuinely seemed unable to process what you’d just said.

You looked away first, and the silence stretched. Eventually, Joel rubbed a hand across his jaw. His expression hadn’t changed; if anything, he looked more stunned than before.

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

The honesty caught you off guard, and a small laugh escaped you.

“That’s okay.”

“No.” His gaze dropped briefly toward the paperwork. Then lifted again. “It’s not.” Joel shook his head slightly. “I’ve spent almost a year listening to you talk about this place.” His voice remained quiet. “You had plans for every room.” A muscle moved in his jaw. “You knew exactly where the Christmas tree was gonna go.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly… Because you had.

Joel exhaled slowly. Then looked away. The kitchen fell silent again. When he spoke next, it sounded almost like he was talking to himself.

“I thought you’d be here forever.”

You stared at him. Joel seemed to realize what he’d said a second later. His eyes dropped immediately, as though he’d accidentally spoken a truth he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

Finally, he picked up the cabinet samples he’d originally come to ask about. For several seconds, he seemed to completely forget why he was holding them.

Eventually he cleared his throat. “So…” The word sounded rough. “Which one?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The hardware.” A faint shake of his head followed. “The reason I came in here.”

You looked down at the samples. At the two options you’d barely cared about ten minutes ago. Then pointed at one. “That one.”

Joel nodded. “Okay.”

He gathered the paperwork together and turned toward the doorway. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something else. Something important… but instead he stopped himself.

“Okay.” Then he left.

You watched him disappear down the hallway. A few moments later, you heard him speaking to one of the crew members outside.

He sounded completely normal. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just looked at your dream house as though he’d lost something too. You stared at the listing paperwork for a long time after that.

*********

The house went on the market three weeks later. You hated it almost immediately. Not the paperwork or the realtor. Not even the little sign that appeared beside the driveway one Tuesday morning. It was the showings.

At first, you told yourself you’d be fine. The house was just a house. People would walk through it, ask questions, make comments, and leave. It wasn’t personal.

The illusion lasted exactly one afternoon. The first couple arrived carrying coffee cups and holding hands. They spent almost twenty minutes wandering through the kitchen while the realtor explained the renovations, and you stayed mostly out of the way, pretending to answer emails at the dining table. Then the woman stopped beside the island, rested her hand against the countertop, and smiled.

“Oh, this is perfect.”

Her husband glanced up from the cabinet she’d been inspecting. “For what?”

She looked around the room. “Family dinners.”

The words hit you so hard it felt ridiculous. Of course, that had been the point. You’d spent an absurd amount of time arguing over the dimensions of the island because you’d wanted enough room for holidays, enough room for children helping with baking, enough room for people gathering around it without feeling cramped. You’d imagined birthdays, Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas mornings that started with coffee and cinnamon rolls. You left the room before they finished talking.

The second showing was even worse. A couple in their thirties arrived with a little girl who couldn’t have been older than four. 

While her parents discussed square footage and storage space, the child discovered the reading nook beneath the front window. Within minutes she’d climbed into it, curled her legs underneath herself, and proudly announced that it was hers now. The declaration made her parents laugh; the realtor laughed too. You managed a smile before excusing yourself and retreating upstairs.

The third showing finally broke you. The couple themselves weren’t particularly memorable. Neither was most of their conversation. You’d heard enough prospective buyers discuss countertops and flooring by then that the details blurred together.

But then the woman stopped outside the extra bedroom. The room. You knew before she spoke. You knew exactly what was coming.

Her face lit up. “Oh, this would make a beautiful nursery.”

The sentence was completely innocent, but you made it approximately five more seconds before escaping into the backyard.

After that, you stopped attending showings altogether. Whenever the realtor called, you found somewhere else to be. Sometimes it was a coffee shop. Sometimes a bookstore. Sometimes Target, where you’d wander aimlessly through aisles without buying anything. A few afternoons, you simply drove around until the showing was over because you couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Anywhere was easier than being there.

The problem wasn’t that people loved the house. The problem was that they loved it for exactly the reasons you’d built it. Every family saw the same things you had seen. The kitchen. The reading nook. The backyard. The extra bedroom. The future. Your future. Or at least the one you’d spent years imagining.

One afternoon, the realtor called sounding delighted. “We’ve had a lot of interest.”

You closed your eyes. Of course she sounded delighted, that was her job. “That’s great.”

And it was. Objectively, everything was going exactly as it should. The house photographed beautifully. The market was strong. Several families had already expressed serious interest. It was the sort of listing realtors hoped for. So why did it feel like grief?

The answer arrived a few days later. You returned home just as the realtor was leaving after a showing. Before climbing into her car, she handed you a feedback sheet from one of the prospective buyers.

You glanced at it casually and then stopped at one of the comments: We absolutely love the home. It feels like the perfect place to raise our children.

For a long moment, you simply stood in the driveway staring at the sentence. Reading it once, then again, and then a third time. By the time you reached the front door, tears were already burning behind your eyes… Because they were right. That was exactly what the house was.

The perfect place to raise children. The perfect place to build a family. The perfect place to grow old. And somewhere along the way, you’d become convinced that because your marriage had failed, the house had failed you too.

The thought followed you inside. Through the kitchen. Past the shelves. Into the living room, where the evening sunlight spilled through the windows exactly the way you’d always hoped it would.

And for a second, since putting it on the market, you found yourself wondering whether selling it would actually heal anything at all.

**********

Joel found you upstairs. The realtor’s lockbox was still hanging from the front door. Your car was in the driveway. Between the two, it hadn’t taken much detective work to figure out what kind of day you’d had.

The room was quiet when he stepped inside. You stood beside the window with your arms folded tightly across your chest, staring out at the backyard. The room itself was almost finished now. Fresh paint covered the walls. The trim had been installed. Sunlight poured through the glass exactly the way you’d once hoped it would.

Neither of you called it the nursery, you hadn’t for months, but that didn’t change what it was.

“Hey.”

You let out a tired laugh without turning around. “Hey.”

Joel’s gaze drifted around the room before settling on you again. He’d seen enough by now to recognize the signs. The lockbox. The showing. The expression on your face.

“Tough showing?”

You smiled faintly. “They loved it.”

Something in the answer made his chest tighten, because he understood exactly what you meant.

Your eyes remained fixed on the window. “They said it’d be perfect for children.”

Joel lowered his gaze briefly. “Yeah.”

You laughed again. A small, broken sound. “The worst part is they were right.” Silence settled between you, but eventually you shook your head. “I don’t even know why I’m upset anymore.”

Joel looked at you. The statement wasn’t true, you knew it and so did he. “I think you do.”

You closed your eyes briefly. Maybe you did, Maybe you were simply tired of saying it out loud.

“You know, when Sarah was born, I thought I had everything figured out.”

That got your attention. You looked over your shoulder.

Joel’s gaze remained somewhere distant, fixed on a memory instead of the room.

“I was twenty.” A faint smile appeared. “Told myself I knew exactly how my life was gonna go.” The smile lingered for a second before fading. “Turns out I didn’t know a damn thing.”

You watched him quietly.

Joel let out a breath.

“Sarah’s finishin’ high school next year.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Even after all this time, it always surprised you how quickly the years seemed to move when he talked about her.

Joel shook his head.

“Feels like yesterday she was ridin’ around the driveway with training wheels.” The affection in his voice softened something inside you. Then he looked back at the room. “And none of it happened the way I planned.”

The words settled between you; steady, simple and true.

“Most things don’t.”

You swallowed… Because this conversation wasn’t really about Sarah anymore.

“What happened to you is awful.” The bluntness caught you off guard. Joel never had much patience for pretending otherwise. “What Mark did.” His expression hardened briefly. “Awful.”

You looked away.

Joel let the silence sit. Then he continued.

“But you’re still here.” 

A humorless laugh escaped you. “Barely.”

“No.” The answer came immediately, certain. “You’re here.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

Joel gestured around the room.

“The house is still here too.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself.

“That’s not helping your argument.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to.”

His mouth twitched briefly. Then he grew serious again. For a few moments, he seemed to be searching for the right words. Not something he did often.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“I think it’s gonna take a hell of a lot of courage.” You frowned slightly. Joel’s gaze remained steady. “I think it’s gonna hurt.”

The honesty surprised you. There was no false optimism in it, no promises that everything would magically work out, just truth.

“But I think you’ll put yourself back together.”

The room felt very still. You stared at him.

Joel shrugged slightly, as though the conclusion were obvious. As though he’d never considered any other outcome.

“You built this whole damn place.” His gaze moved around the room. “The plans. The decisions. Every little thing.” A small smile appeared. “You survived Tommy’s opinions.”

You snorted.

“That alone deserves some kind of award.”

“There you go.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Now you’re thinkin’.”

Despite everything, you laughed. A real laugh this time.

The sound seemed to surprise both of you. Joel smiled too, and for a brief moment, something passed between you. Something warm. Something that had been sitting quietly beneath the surface for months.

Joel felt it. You knew he did. Because his expression softened in a way that made your pulse stumble.

“You got more future left than you think.” The words were quiet. Careful. Not a speech. Not advice. Just something he believed.

And somehow, standing there in the room that had once represented everything you’d lost, you found yourself wondering whether he might be right.

*************

The house was done. After nearly a year of noise, dust, deliveries, delays, and an endless stream of decisions, there was suddenly nothing left to decide. The shelves were installed. The paint was dry. Every fixture had found its place. The last item on the punch list had been crossed off that morning.

You’d expected to feel relieved, but instead, the house felt strangely empty. Part of that was probably because the crew was gone. For months there had always been somebody here. Tommy arguing with someone. Music playing from a work radio. Joel appearing in a doorway with another question about some detail you’d forgotten you needed to approve. Now there was only silence.

You’d missed Joel that morning. The realization bothered you more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t as though he’d disappeared. The renovation was over so there was no reason for him to keep showing up every day.

Still, you’d assumed there would be a goodbye, a conversation… Something. Instead, you’d spent twenty minutes talking to a supplier on the phone and emerged to find half the trucks already gone, including his.

The feeling followed you around for the rest of the afternoon. By the time you wandered into the kitchen, you were mostly trying to avoid looking at the boxes beginning to appear throughout the house. Some had already been packed. Others sat half-finished. Every one of them felt like evidence that you were actually going through with this.

That’s when you noticed the note. It sat on the island by itself, folded once. Your name written across the front in familiar handwriting.

Frowning, you picked it up.

Found this hidden behind one of the old built-ins in the hallway. Figured it might belong to your grandmother.

Didn’t want Tommy anywhere near it in case he decided it was treasure.

— Joel

Your eyes immediately moved to the object sitting beside the note.

It was a small wooden box, old and worn, but beautiful. You weren’t sure how you’d missed it before.

Setting the note down, you crossed the room and lifted the box carefully onto the kitchen table. The hinges creaked slightly when you opened it.

Inside was a lifetime. 

Photographs filled the top layer, some were loose, others were tucked into envelopes that had yellowed with age. Beneath them sat old letters tied together with ribbon, recipe cards covered in familiar handwriting, a porcelain brooch you vaguely remembered seeing your grandmother wear when you were small, and dozens of little keepsakes whose stories had likely disappeared long ago.

You smiled despite yourself as the house suddenly felt a little less empty.

For the next half hour, you sat at the kitchen table sorting through fragments of a life that had existed long before you were born; wedding photographs, Christmas gatherings, birthdays... Ordinary moments preserved in faded black-and-white snapshots. Your grandmother looked impossibly young in some of them, almost like a stranger.

Eventually, after removing another stack of photographs, you noticed something resting at the very bottom of the box. A book.

The leather cover was worn smooth with age. There was no title. Only your grandmother’s name written neatly inside the front cover.

You stared at it for several seconds before opening the first page, and immediately realized it wasn’t just a notebook, it was a diary. You took it and sat on your carefully picked couch and started to read.

The diary wasn’t particularly organized. Some entries were only a few lines long while others stretched across several pages. Most of them were surprisingly ordinary. There were notes about family dinners, complaints about neighbors, recipes she didn’t want to forget, and stories about your mother and uncles when they were young.

The woman emerging from those pages felt more real than the grandmother you remembered, less polished and more human.

You smiled more than once. You cried once or twice. Then, sometime after lunch, you turned a page and found yourself staring at a date from several months after your grandfather’s death.

The shift in tone was immediate, even the handwriting looked heavier somehow, as though even holding the pen had required effort. You started reading.

September 14

I spent the afternoon looking at apartments. Margaret insisted I should at least consider it, a smaller place. Less maintenance and less rattling around in rooms I don’t use anymore.

Everyone seems to think it would be easier and maybe they’re right. This house feels too large now. Every room contains some version of him.

I can’t walk into the kitchen without remembering him sitting at the table pretending to read the newspaper while actually watching the children argue. I can’t pass the back door without expecting to see his boots. I still wake up some mornings and reach across the bed before remembering.

Today I made enough soup for four people. I stood there staring at the pot wondering what on earth I was thinking. Then I cried over carrots like an idiot.

September 29

The children are worried about me. I understand why… The truth is that I’m worried about myself too.

Everything feels temporary. As though this isn’t my life anymore. As though I’m simply waiting for real life to come back.

October 3

I spent nearly an hour standing in the hallway today. The one outside our bedroom.

I couldn’t remember why at first. Then I realised I was listening. Waiting for the garage door. Waiting for his keys. Waiting for the sound of him coming home.

The strange thing is that for a few seconds it felt completely normal. Then I remembered. It is astonishing how many times grief can break your heart with the same fact.

October 17

I think I finally understand why I keep looking at apartments. It’s because every time I walk through these rooms, I am forced to remember that the future I expected is gone.

The future was supposed to be the two of us growing old here, sitting on the porch, complaining about the neighbours. Spoiling our grandchildren. Arguing about things that don’t matter.

I had become so accustomed to that picture that I forgot life never promised it to me.

October 19

I walked through the house again today. I kept thinking about all the reasons I should leave.

Then, somewhere between the dining room and the front door, a ridiculous thought occurred to me.

This house has already survived more than I have. It survived being full of children. It survived being full of noise. It survived the years when money was tight. It survived celebrations and funerals and Christmases and ordinary Tuesdays.

Why am I acting as though it only knows how to be one thing?

November 2

I realised something today.

The house is not asking me to leave. The house is not the thing hurting me. The house is simply standing where it has always stood.

I am the one trying to run.

November 6

Perhaps the real problem is that staying means accepting that there is still a future.

Not the one I planned, not the one I wanted… But a future nonetheless, and that feels terrifying.

Because if there is still a future, then I have to live it. I have to keep going. I have to become somebody I never expected to be.

A widow. A woman living alone. Someone building a life she did not choose.

November 12

I think courage may simply be staying. Not because staying is easy, but because leaving would be.

Because every day I remain here, I am forced to accept that my life did not end when that chapter ended… And some days, that feels like the bravest thing I have ever done.

You sat there for a long time after finishing the entries.

The diary remained open in your lap while the last traces of daylight slowly disappeared from the living room, leaving it bathed in the warm glow of the lamps you’d installed only a few weeks earlier. At some point, you became aware that you’d been staring at the same paragraph for several minutes without reading it again. The words were no longer on the page. They were somewhere inside your chest.

The similarities weren’t exact. Your grandmother had lost a husband she loved deeply. You had lost a marriage that, if you were being completely honest with yourself, had been dying long before Mark finally walked out the door. And yet… the feeling underneath was so familiar it made your throat tighten.

The exhaustion, the grief. The overwhelming urge to escape. Not because the house had done anything wrong, but because staying meant facing what had changed.

For months, you’d been telling yourself that selling was the sensible choice. The practical choice. The mature choice. Every explanation you’d given your lawyer, your realtor, your friends, and yourself had sounded perfectly reasonable.

Sitting alone in the finished living room with your grandmother’s diary resting open across your knees, you finally admitted something you should have realized a long time ago: You didn’t want to sell because the house was too large for your non-existent family, you wanted to sell because it hurt.

Because every room reminded you of plans that had never become reality. Because every corner contained some version of the future you’d imagined, and living beside those ghosts felt infinitely harder than walking away from them.

Slowly, your gaze drifted around the room. For months, you’d looked at everything and seen only absence. You’d seen the children who weren’t there, the husband who’d left, and the future that had collapsed before it ever had the chance to exist.

Tonight, for the first time, you saw something else. The kitchen wasn’t evidence of a failed marriage. The shelves weren’t evidence of a failed marriage. The reading nook wasn’t evidence of a failed marriage. None of it was.

The realization settled quietly over you, not like a revelation and not like some dramatic moment of clarity, but like a truth that had been patiently waiting for you to catch up to it.

Your grandmother was right. The house wasn’t the thing hurting you. The house was simply standing where it had always stood, waiting.

You thought about all the things you’d poured into it over the past year. The hours spent sketching layouts. The endless conversations about paint colors. The arguments over cabinet handles. The reading nook beneath the front window. The garden you’d already begun planning in your head.

None of those things belonged to Mark, they belonged to you. The thought should have made you sad, but instead, it brought an unexpected sense of peace.

For the first time since the divorce, you found yourself imagining a future inside these walls that didn’t begin and end with what you’d lost. The picture wasn’t clear yet, there were still enormous blank spaces where certainty should have been… But there was a future. That was the important part.

A future didn’t have to look the way you’d imagined at thirty in order to be worth living.

The realization made you smile despite yourself; simply because, for the first time in months, the future felt like something other than an empty room.

You looked down at the diary again, your fingers resting lightly against the worn leather cover before you finally closed it and set it aside. Then you reached for your phone.

The realtor answered on the second ring.

“Hi,” she said brightly. “Everything okay?”

Your eyes wandered around while she spoke. The house looked exactly the same as it had an hour earlier, and yet somehow everything about it felt different.

Home. The word appeared in your mind so naturally that it surprised you. When you finally spoke, the decision felt far simpler than the weeks you’d spent agonizing over it.

“Actually, I need to take the house off the market.”

There was a brief pause.

“Are you sure?”

A few weeks ago, you would’ve hesitated. You would’ve made a list of pros and cons. You would’ve questioned yourself. You would’ve asked for another day to think about it. This time, the answer arrived immediately.

“Yeah.” The smile that spread across your face felt small but completely genuine. “I’m sure.”

After ending the call, you remained at the couch for several minutes, listening to the quiet that settled around the house.

Sitting there in the home you’d nearly abandoned, you realized that staying wasn’t the easy choice. It was the brave one.

************

A few days passed. The realtor removed the listing and the sign disappeared from the front yard. Life didn’t magically transform overnight, but little by little, the house began feeling different.

You’d stopped packing. Then, almost without noticing, you started unpacking. At first it was practical things; dishes, towels, books... The kind of objects that made daily life function. Later came the things that felt more permanent, the things that quietly admitted you weren’t leaving after all.

One afternoon, you took down three framed photographs from the hallway. You stood there holding them for a long time; almost a decade of memories. Vacations, anniversaries… Smiles that looked genuine enough in pictures.

In the end, you wrapped them and placed them in a box.

The empty spaces on the wall bothered you immediately, so that weekend you drove to a flea market; then another, and another after that.

You came home with an old landscape painting, a vintage mirror that probably needed more restoration than you wanted to admit, and a collection of small framed sketches that made absolutely no sense together and yet somehow worked perfectly in the hallway.

The house slowly began changing. A different lamp, a chair moved from one room to another, new books on the shelves, old photographs replaced by things that simply made you happy. For the first time since the divorce, it felt less like preserving a life that had ended and more like creating one.

The realization caught you by surprise one evening while you were standing on a ladder in the living room, trying to decide whether a painting looked better two inches to the left or two inches to the right.

Your first thought was absurdly specific: Joel would have an opinion about this.

You froze; the hammer remained in your hand, the painting hung crookedly on the wall. And suddenly you realized you hadn’t thought about him properly in days.

Not because you’d forgotten him… Quite the opposite. The house had occupied all the space in your mind. The diary. The decision to stay. The process of making the place yours again. 

Somewhere along the way, you’d stopped thinking about what you’d lost. Which left room to think about something else. Someone else.

You climbed down from the ladder slowly. The living room felt unusually quiet, because now that you allowed yourself to think about Joel, really think about him, there was an uncomfortable truth waiting for you.

You missed him. Not the idea of him. Not the almost-kiss. Him.

His terrible jokes. His opinions about things nobody had asked him to have opinions on. The way he somehow always appeared when something went wrong. The way the house had felt fuller when his truck was parked outside.

You sat down on the sofa and stared at the half-finished gallery wall. Then, despite yourself, you smiled. Because the thought of the future didn’t make you think about what was missing. It made you think about who you wished was in it.

************

A few weeks later, Joel still found himself looking for your driveway whenever he happened to be working nearby. It was a stupid habit, and an embarrassing one.

The job was finished, the invoices had been paid, the crew had moved on to other projects. There was absolutely no reason for him to wonder whether your truck was parked outside or whether you’d finally moved out and sold the house.

And yet, every now and then, he’d catch himself thinking about it. Thinking about you.

The realization irritated him more than it probably should have. Not because he regretted how he felt… but because there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

The day he’d left your house without saying goodbye hadn’t been one of his finer moments. He knew that. Tommy certainly knew that.

In fact, Tommy had spent the better part of two weeks informing him exactly how stupid he’d been.

“You just left?”

Joel had continued loading tools into the truck and just grumbled as a response.

“You didn’t say goodbye?”

“No.”

Tommy had stared at him. Then shaken his head like a disappointed parent.

“You are genuinely unbelievable.”

The problem wasn’t that Joel hadn’t wanted to say goodbye, the problem was that he hadn’t trusted himself to do it.

The house was finished. You were selling it. He’d been standing in a doorway watching you walk away from something you loved, and every instinct he’d possessed had been telling him to stay out of it.

So he’d done the only thing that felt safe. He’d left.

The decision hadn’t gotten any smarter with time. By the end of the month, he was mostly trying not to think about it anymore. Which was exactly what he was doing when he locked the door to the workshop one evening and turned toward the parking lot.

The crew had already gone home; the last of the trucks were pulling out, Tommy was arguing with somebody about inventory. A perfectly ordinary day.

Then Joel saw a familiar car parked near the fence. His steps slowed immediately.

For a second, he genuinely thought he was imagining things. The sun hung low over the yard, throwing long shadows across the gravel. A few workers were still loading equipment, but beyond them, leaning casually against the side of your car, was you.

Joel stopped walking. His brain seemed to forget how the next part worked.

You were here. At the yard. Waiting. The realization hit him with surprising force.

Because in every version of this conversation he’d imagined over the past few weeks (and there had been far more of those than he’d ever admit aloud) he was the one who found you, not the other way around.

Across the lot, your eyes met his. And then you smiled. A real one. Not one of the tired smiles he’d seen so often near the end of the renovation.

Something warm settled unexpectedly in his chest. For the first time in months, you looked happy.

The thought distracted him long enough that he didn’t notice Tommy stepping up beside him.

His brother followed his gaze, saw you, and then immediately looked back at Joel.

“Oh.”

Joel closed his eyes.

“Tommy.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Tommy grinned.

“I absolutely was.”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked up again, Tommy was already backing away.

“Inventory emergency.”

“You literally just-”

“Very urgent.”

“Tommy.”

“Good luck.”

And then the bastard was gone.

Joel watched him disappear before turning back toward the parking lot. Toward you. Toward the woman he’d spent the last several weeks trying very hard not to miss.

He didn’t stop until he was standing in front of you. Up close, he could see things he hadn’t noticed from across the parking lot.

The way your hair had been pulled back in a hurry. The faint smudge of dust on your jeans. The fact that you looked lighter somehow. Not happier, exactly, but lighter. Like you’d finally set something down.

Joel had imagined seeing you again often enough over the past few weeks that you’d think he’d have something intelligent prepared.

Instead, the only thing that came out was: “Hey.”

Your smile widened slightly.

“Hey.”

God, he’d missed that smile. The realization arrived so quickly and so completely that it almost knocked the breath out of him.

He’d missed your laugh. Your opinions. The way you could spend twenty minutes discussing something nobody else would notice and somehow make it sound fascinating. He’d missed walking into a room and immediately looking for you. 

Mostly, though, he’d missed being looked at the way you were looking at him now. Like you were happy he was here. Like you’d come here hoping to see him. The thought made his pulse kick.

“What are you doing here?”

You glanced down briefly before looking back up.

“I came to see you.”

Joel forgot how to breathe just for a second. A very long second.

Something in your expression softened when you realized the effect those words had had.

“Well.” A nervous laugh escaped you. “Actually, I came to see Tommy too.”

Joel narrowed his eyes.

You immediately laughed. “Okay, that’s a lie.”

“Thought so.”

The smile that appeared on his face felt entirely beyond his control.

You looked at it. Actually looked at it. And suddenly Joel became painfully aware of the fact that the two of you were standing in the middle of a mostly empty construction yard while the evening sun turned everything gold.

“So.” His hands settled on his hips. “Everything okay?”

The question was simple. The answer wasn’t.

For a second, you simply looked at him. Then you nodded.

“Yeah.” Your voice sounded different. “Actually…” A small laugh escaped you. “Better than okay.”

Joel’s brow furrowed.

You took a breath. And then said the last thing he’d expected to hear.

“I’m keeping the house.”

Joel stared at you.

You smiled. The kind of smile that started somewhere deep and worked its way outward.

“I’m staying.”

For a moment, he couldn’t find words.

“What changed?”

Your gaze softened.

“I found something.”

Joel immediately thought of a man. The possibility lasted less than half a second before he realized how ridiculous that was.

Whatever expression crossed his face made you laugh. A real laugh. One he hadn’t heard in months.

“My grandmother’s diary.”

Relief flooded through him so quickly it was almost embarrassing.

You told him about the box. The note. The diary. The entry you’d spent all day reading and rereading.

Joel listened without interrupting. And when you finally finished, the yard fell quiet again.

The evening had grown softer around you two. Most of the crew had left. The sounds of traffic drifted faintly from somewhere beyond the fence.

You looked at him.

“I think I was trying to run.”

Joel nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

The answer surprised you.

“Yeah?”

A small smile touched his mouth.

“Little bit.”

You laughed. Then shook your head.

“I hate when you’re right.”

“Happens a lot.”

“According to who?”

“Me.”

That earned another laugh. God, he’d missed that sound.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt comfortable. The kind that only existed between two people who already knew each other.

Then you glanced toward the workshop behind him.

“There’s one more thing.”

Joel’s stomach immediately tightened. The way you said it. The way your fingers twisted together. The way your gaze lingered on his before darting away again.

He recognized nerves. Because he was suddenly feeling them too.

“What?”

You looked down. Then back up.

“I realized something else while I was unpacking.”

Joel waited.

You swallowed. And for the first time since he’d walked over, you looked uncertain.

“I missed you.”

The words were quiet. Simple. Completely devastating.

Joel stared at you. The entire yard seemed to disappear. The trucks. The tools. The building behind him…  All of it. Gone. Leaving only you.

You laughed nervously.

“I had this whole speech planned.”

His heart was hammering now.

“Yeah?”

“It was better than this.”

“Doubt it.”

Your eyes met his. The look that passed between you felt familiar. Because it was.

It was the same look from the living room. The same look from the nursery. The same look that had been chasing both of you for months. Only this time neither of you had anything left to hide behind.

Joel took a step closer. Not much. Just enough that your breath caught. His did too.

“I missed you too.”

The confession came easily. Far more easily than he’d expected.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I spent three weeks convincing myself not to drive past your house.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Three weeks?”

“Wasn’t very successful.”

The laugh that escaped you was beautiful.

And before Joel could stop himself, he reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was gentle. The moment his fingers touched your skin, the air between you seemed to shift. 

Joel felt something inside him finally settle. Months of wanting. Months of waiting. Months of bad timing. And suddenly there you were. Standing right in front of him.

His hand lingered briefly against your cheek.

“Hey.”

Your voice came out softer now.

“Yeah?”

The smile that appeared on your face was small. Tender and a little nervous.

“You never said goodbye.”

Joel laughed quietly.

“No.”

“You should probably fix that.”

His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth. Then returned to yours.

“Yeah.” The word came out rough. “I probably should.”

And when he leaned in this time, there was nothing rushing either of you.

The first kiss was soft. Almost impossibly soft. The kind of kiss that carried months of restraint inside it.

Joel felt the small breath you released against his mouth before he kissed you again, and this time neither of you seemed quite as careful.

One of your hands slid up to rest against his chest. The other found his shoulder. The simple contact nearly undid him. Because he’d spent so long wanting to touch you.

Not like this. Not only like this. Just… touch you. To know you were real. To know this wasn’t another conversation replaying itself in his head on the drive home.

The next kiss lingered longer. Warmer. Your fingers brushed the back of his neck, and Joel couldn’t stop the quiet sound that escaped him when you moved closer.

The distance disappeared entirely. The feeling of your body against his made every sensible thought he’d ever had evaporate.

Joel’s hand slipped from your cheek into your hair. The kiss deepened naturally, neither of you hurrying, neither of you trying to prove anything.

There was no desperation in it. Only relief. Relief at no longer pretending. Relief at no longer walking around everything that had existed between you from the very beginning.

When you finally broke apart, neither of you had gone far. Your foreheads remained touching. Your breaths mingled.

A smile was still pulling at your mouth. Joel’s wasn’t doing much better.

“Hi,” you murmured.

The laugh that escaped him was helpless.

“Hi.”

You kissed him again before he could say anything else. Short and sweet.

Joel closed his eyes briefly.

“You know,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, “I had a whole speech prepared.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“You?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to it?”

His gaze lingered on you. The evening light caught in your hair, and the sight of you standing there smiling at him made the answer embarrassingly obvious.

He shook his head.

“Forgot every damn word.”

Your laugh wrapped itself around him like sunlight.

And standing there in the middle of a dusty construction yard, with the day fading around them and the future stretching wide open ahead, Joel couldn’t remember ever being happier to lose his train of thought.

*************

The bedroom was filled with the breathless sounds escaping your lips as Joel moved with relentless determination, drawing you closer to the edge with every thrust.

A moment earlier, he’d adjusted the position of your leg, and the subtle change had somehow brought him impossibly deeper. The resulting groan tore from his throat before he could stop it, low and desperate, while his forehead pressed briefly against yours. His breathing mingled with yours, uneven and heated, and the way his hands tightened around you made it clear he was losing the battle to stay composed.

Nearly two years together, and somehow nothing had dulled the effect you had on him. If anything, it had become worse. More familiar. More intimate. More addictive. Every glance, every touch, every sound still had the power to unravel him in ways he would have thought impossible before you came into his life.

“There you go, baby. That’s it. Come for me.”

The rasp in his voice sent a shiver through you, drawing a helpless moan from your lips as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him even closer. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough. You wanted every part of him within reach, wanted to erase the space between your bodies entirely, as though holding him tighter could somehow bring you closer still.

The sound he made in response was low and unsteady, and for a moment neither of you seemed capable of anything except clinging to each other and letting the rest of the world disappear.

When pleasure finally crashed over you, it stole the breath from your lungs and sent your back arching into the mattress. Your cry echoed through the room as you clung to him, overwhelmed by the force of it.

Joel followed you moments later. A low groan escaped him as he buried his face against your shoulder, holding you tightly while he spilled himself inside of you. For several seconds, neither of you seemed capable of anything except holding on, caught in the aftermath and in each other.

The morning sun continued creeping across the bedroom floor while you lay curled against Joel’s side, one of his arms beneath your head and the other resting lazily across your waist. His breathing had started to slow, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek familiar enough now to feel like home.

The room was quiet. Comfortable. The sort of silence that only existed between people who no longer felt the need to fill every moment with words.

Your fingers traced idle patterns across his stomach. Then, before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out.

“Do you think we did it this time?”

Joel’s hand paused. The question wasn’t unusual anymore. Not since the two of you had finally decided to stop talking about someday and start talking about maybe.

His thumb brushed slowly against your side.

“Maybe.”

You smiled.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer I’ve got.”

The smile in his voice was impossible to miss.

You lifted your head slightly.

“Coward.”

Joel looked down at you.

“Sweetheart, I spent twenty years raising a teenage girl by myself.” His eyebrows lifted. “There ain’t much on this planet I’m scared of.”

The laugh that escaped you earned a grin from him.

For a moment, you simply looked at each other. The conversation felt different now than it would have years ago. Back then, the subject had carried so much weight. Now there was hope. Hope and uncertainty. But somehow the uncertainty didn’t feel frightening anymore. Not with him.

Joel brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

His expression softened.

“I think if it happens, it’ll happen.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“That’s a terrible cliché.”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t even mean anything.”

“I know.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “But I mean it.”

You pressed a kiss against his shoulder. Then reality finally returned.

“How long until she gets here?”

You reached for your phone on the nightstand. Your eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

Joel immediately sat up slightly.

“What?”

“An hour.”

“An hour?”

“An hour.”

The silence that followed was almost comical.

Then Joel dropped back onto the pillows.

“She’s bringing him.”

You buried your face against his shoulder.

“She’s bringing him.”

The boyfriend. The mysterious boyfriend. The boyfriend neither of you had met. The boyfriend who apparently existed but somehow remained suspiciously absent from every photograph Sarah had sent.

Joel looked toward the ceiling.

“What if he’s terrible?”

You started laughing immediately.

“What if he’s great?”

“What if he’s terrible and I gotta pretend he’s great?”

“Joel.”

“What?”

“You are not allowed to interrogate him.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You stared. Joel stared back. The silence stretched.

“You were absolutely planning to.”

His expression remained completely innocent.

“I just have questions.”

“You have an entire questionnaire.”

“Maybe.”

You laughed so hard you nearly fell off the bed. Joel caught you automatically, pulling you back against him. The movement was easy. Natural.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sunlight. The bedroom. The house. The future… Everything felt wonderfully ordinary. And after everything it had taken to get here, ordinary might have been the most beautiful thing of all.

Then Joel sighed dramatically.

“We should get dressed.”

“We should.”

Neither of you moved. Not even a little.

Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Finally Joel looked down at you.

“You know Sarah’s definitely got a key.”