Chapter 8
Mark
Mark tapped his fingers against the smooth surface of his desk, staring at the clock. 6:45 p.m.
Leaving at seven isn’t exactly scandalous, he told himself. It’s still a full workday.
And yet, the moment he reached for his suit jacket, he heard the inevitable knock on his door.
Diana.
“Leaving early again ?” she said, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.
Mark sighed dramatically, slipping his jacket on. “Yes.”
She arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “You? The man who practically sleeps here? I need to know what’s going on.”
He straightened his tie. “What, a guy can’t just… go home?”
Diana snorted. “A guy can — you don’t.”
Mark grabbed his briefcase, brushing past her. “Maybe I’m re-evaluating my work-life balance.”
Diana gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror. “ My God. Are you dying? ”
Mark smirked. “You’re hilarious.”
She followed him to the door, heels clicking. “Seriously, is it therapy ? Or are you seeing a doctor, is he finally removing the stick?”
Mark nearly tripped.
Diana smirked. “Gotcha.”
“Nothing is going on ,” he insisted.
“Goodnight, Mark ,” she called after him, voice full of amusement.
Mark pulled into his driveway, balancing a bag of takeout sushi on the passenger seat. He didn’t normally bring home dinner but tonight felt… different.
The soft glow of the living room lights spilled through the front windows, and as he stepped inside, the familiar scent of sawdust and freshly sanded wood hit him.
Looking at Ethan stand next to the built-ins, he noticed they were finally done.
Jessica would have loved them.
She had always wanted that extra space for books, had dreamed of this exact addition. The sunlight that poured into the room in the late afternoons would hit just right, making it feel warm and inviting—just the way she had always loved it.
Mark exhaled slowly, running his fingers in his hair. She would have been proud of this.
Then—
Ethan held out his screwdriver and started singing into it, at the top of his lungs. “ Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears… ”
Mark blinked, not understanding what was happening and smiling ear to ear.
Ethan turned around and saw Mark and jumped about six inches off the ground with a look of pure embarrassment and surprise on his face as the headphones flew off, clattering to the floor. For a second, he looked horrified. Then, he busted out laughing. A deep, unrestrained laughter.
Mark smirked.
He cleared his throat. “Impressive taste, Ethan.”
Mark watched as Ethan bent over, hands on his knees, shaking his head.
“Damn,” Ethan gasped between chuckles. “ Damn —I did not hear you come in.”
Mark, arms crossed, leaned against the wall. “So. 80s power ballads, huh?”
Ethan ran a sheepish hand through his hair. “What can I say? Classic pop rock is superior .”
Mark arched a brow. “You weren’t even born when that song came out.”
Ethan grinned, picking up his headphones. “No, but my mom was. She raised me right.”
Mark chuckled. “I’ll allow it.”
Ethan smirked. “Thanks, Dad. ”
Mark rolled his eyes, then held up the bag in his hand. “I grabbed sushi on the way home. Are you hungry?”
Ethan perked up instantly. “You got sushi?”
Mark smirked. “Is that a yes?”
Ethan pulled off his work gloves, already moving toward the kitchen. “ Hell yes. ”
Mark set the sushi containers down, watching as Ethan rubbed his hands together like a kid on Christmas morning.
“This is good stuff,” Ethan said, popping open the soy sauce packets. “Most of the guys at the station only go for burgers or pizza, but this ? This is my kind of meal.”
Mark grinned. “Then it’s a good thing I bought extra.”
Ethan snatched up a pair of chopsticks. “Didn’t peg you as a sushi guy.”
Mark poured some tea for himself. “Jessica loved it.”
Ethan slowed for half a second, glancing at Mark.
Mark met his gaze, surprised at how comfortable it felt.
Ethan nodded, something understanding and quiet in his expression. “Well. She had great taste.”
Mark smiled, but something in his chest tightened.
Ethan took a bite, then groaned in satisfaction. “Oh, man. You officially have my loyalty. This is so much better than station food.”
Mark smirked. “So, this is how I bribe you.”
Ethan pointed his chopsticks at him. “You could’ve just asked, but yeah, this works.”
Mark shook his head, amused.
And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel strange to have someone here.
As they ate, conversation flowed easily.
Ethan talked about funny calls from the station, and Mark—against all odds—actually laughed.
But more than that?
Mark felt something shifting inside him.
He wasn’t sure what it was.
But when Ethan leaned back in his chair, grinning as he stole the last piece of ginger, Mark couldn’t bring himself to care.
Because for the first time in years , he wasn’t thinking about the past.
He was living in the present.
Mark leaned back in his chair, chopsticks resting between his fingers, as Ethan polished off the last piece of sushi.
Ethan sighed in satisfaction, stretching his arms before grabbing his napkin and wiping his hands. “That hit the spot. I’m officially adding you to my list of people who feed me well.”
Mark smirked, gathering up the empty containers. “A very exclusive list, I assume?”
Ethan chuckled. “Absolutely. My mom’s at the top, obviously. Then the local coffee shop barista who gives me pup cups for Ranger. And now you.”
Mark shook his head, amused. “I’m honored.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair, content but aware of the time. “I only have about twenty minutes left of work. Then I’ll clean up and get out of your way.” He shot Mark a smirk. “Miss Diana was very clear that I should not be here past eight.”
Mark rolled his eyes as he stood. “Of course she was.”
Ethan pushed his chair back. “I don’t mind following orders. She’s terrifying.”
Mark snorted, grabbing the dishes. “She is . I knew she was fierce but had no idea that she could intimidate law enforcement. But there’s no hurry. Finish up at your pace.”
Ethan tipped an imaginary hat. “Yes, sir.”
Mark smirked but said nothing as Ethan disappeared into the living room, rolling up his sleeves and grabbing his tools.
As Mark rinsed off the dishes, the faint sound of hammer against nails filled the quiet house.
For the first time in a long time…
The silence didn’t feel so empty.
Mark wiped his hands on a dish towel, the sound of Ethan moving around the living room fading into the background. The night had turned quiet, the house settling into a familiar stillness.
Then, Ethan’s voice called from the other room.
"Mark, come take a look at this."
Mark tossed the towel on the counter and headed toward the living room, expecting to see the finished built-ins, maybe a final walkthrough of the work Ethan had done.
Instead, he froze in the doorway.
The air left his lungs.
Every single one of Jessica’s books, the ones she had left in neat little stacks around the room, the ones he couldn’t bear to move for years, were now shelved.
Perfectly arranged.
Not by genre, or title, or author—but by color and size.
Exactly the way she always did it.
Mark’s mouth went dry.
How the hell did Ethan know?
His fingers twitched at his sides as he stared, his throat tightening. The sight of her books lined up in their proper place felt like a piece of her had been restored—not erased, not pushed aside, but honored.
Behind him, Ethan shifted, sensing the silence.
“I, uh—" Ethan cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind that I put the books up. I just… wanted you to see the finished product.”
Mark still couldn’t speak.
He traced the familiar spines with his eyes, memories flooding in. Jessica curled up in her chair, flipping through decorating books. Her laughing softly when he teased her for shelving by color instead of something logical.
“It makes me happy,” she used to say with a shrug. “Books should be beautiful, too.”
And now… they were.
Ethan shifted again, glancing toward the door. “Well, I should head out. It’s late—”
“Stop.”
Ethan froze mid-step, turning back, brows raised.
Mark’s own voice had startled him. His hands curled into fists as he struggled for words.
Why don’t I want him to leave?
He swallowed, exhaling slowly before meeting Ethan’s eyes.
“I have more work,” Mark said, his voice gravelly, uncertain. “Would you…be interested?”
Ethan’s expression softened, like he knew exactly what Mark wasn’t saying.
Then, that easy, his genuine smile appeared.
“Yeah,” Ethan said simply. “I’d like that.”
Mark’s chest tightened.
He nodded. “Good.”
Ethan picked up his bag, giving him a small salute as he headed for the door. “I’ll come over tomorrow night around seven, and you can show me what you want done. Sound good?”
Mark nodded and exhaled, his gaze drifting back to the books.
For the first time in four years, the living room felt like home again.