Chapter 7 Moonlight Pools Like Water
MOONLIGHT POOLS LIKE WATER
MICHAEL
Idrove another nail into the window frame, focused on the impact, the satisfying thunk of metal meeting wood. Physical work was good. Physical work meant I didn't have to think.
“That's crooked.”
I nearly put the hammer through my own thumb.
Evan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing work clothes and an expression that suggested he'd been watching me for longer than was polite. His pale eyes swept the room, cataloging details with that predator awareness I'd come to associate with wolves.
I pressed a hand to my chest. “Do you people ever make noise when you walk?”
“We can. We choose not to.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “It's more fun this way.”
“Fun for who?”
“Me, mostly.” He pushed off from the doorframe, crossed the room with that fluid grace that still caught me off guard. Moved like water over stones, like nothing in the world could make him stumble. “Brought lunch. Nate said you'd forget to eat if someone didn't remind you.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Closed it. Tried to remember if I'd eaten breakfast.
“That's what I thought.” Evan set a paper bag on my makeshift workbench. The smell of Martha's café wafted out, rich and warm and making my stomach growl traitorously. “Sit. Eat. Consider it Alpha's orders.”
“You're not the Alpha.”
“I'm the Alpha's son, which means I get to be bossy by association.” He pulled up an overturned bucket, sat on it like it was a throne. “Besides, Dad would kill me if I let you starve to death in your own renovation project.”
I set down the hammer, admitted defeat. The sandwich was turkey and swiss, exactly the way I liked it. Either Nate had told him, or Evan paid more attention than I'd given him credit for.
“So.” Evan's eyes tracked around the room as I ate. Taking in the progress, the new walls, the fresh flooring, the window frames I'd been wrestling with all morning. “You've been busy.”
“Keeps me occupied.”
“Does it work?”
“Most days.” I took another bite, chewed, swallowed. “Your dad's been by a few times. Helping with the heavy lifting.”
“I heard.” Something flickered across Evan's face. Amusement, maybe. “He broke a clipboard yesterday.”
“He what?”
“Snapped it clean in half. During a pack meeting.” Evan's mouth curved into something that was almost a smile. “Someone made a comment about you being out here alone, and he just...” He mimed the motion. “Crack. Luke said he'd never seen him lose control like that over something so small.”
I didn't know what to do with that information. Filed it away in the growing collection of things about Daniel Callahan that I wasn't ready to examine too closely.
“Your dad is...” I started.
“A lot. I know.” Evan's expression softened. “But he's good. Under all the Alpha posturing and the stoic silence and the tendency to express affection through property damage. He's good.”
“I'm starting to figure that out.”
“Good.” Evan picked up a spare piece of wood, examined it with more interest than it deserved. “He needs someone who sees that. Someone who isn't intimidated by all the wolf stuff.”
“Is this the shovel talk? Because I feel like this might be the shovel talk.”
Evan laughed, surprised and genuine. “Not even close. The shovel talk would involve actual shovels. And probably Maren, who's terrifying.”
“I've met Maren.”
“Then you know what I mean.” He set down the wood. “This is more like... the getting-to-know-you talk. The 'you're dating my father and I should probably figure out who you are' talk.”
“Fair enough.” I wiped my hands on my jeans, gave him my full attention. “What do you want to know?”
Evan considered me for a moment. “What's your favorite thing about this house?”
The question caught me off guard. “What?”
“The house. You've been working on it for weeks. Pouring hours into it. There has to be something you love about it.”
I looked around the room. At the walls I'd rebuilt with my own hands, the floors I'd laid board by board, the windows that were finally starting to look like windows instead of disaster zones.
“The bones,” I said finally. “The original structure. Whoever built this place knew what they were doing. The framing is solid, the foundation is perfect. Everything else can be fixed, but you can't fix bad bones.”
Evan nodded slowly, like I'd passed some kind of test. “Dad says the same thing about the pack house. Says his great-grandfather built it to last, and everything since has just been maintenance.”
“Smart man, your great-grandfather.”
“Stubborn, mostly. But I guess that's the same thing sometimes.” Evan stood, brushed off his jeans. “Now. Those window frames are a disaster. Let me help before you nail something to the wrong wall.”
“I know how to install window frames.”
“You know how to install crooked window frames.” He grabbed the hammer from my workbench, tested its weight. “I've been working construction with the pack since I was sixteen. Trust me.”
“Bossy.”
“Genetic.”
We worked for another hour. The conversation drifted, easy and unforced.
The sound of tires on gravel pulled me from the work that we have been doing. Through the window, I watched Nate's truck pull up, another figure visible in the passenger seat.
“Reinforcements,” Evan observed, already heading for the door.
Nate climbed out first, all easy grace and that smile that lit up his whole face. The passenger door opened slower, and Rafe emerged looking uncertain, like he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to be here.
“Dad!” Nate called, bounding up the porch steps. “We come bearing gifts.”
“If it's more sandwiches, Evan already fed me.”
“Better than sandwiches.” Nate jerked a thumb toward Rafe. “Extra hands. Daniel thought Rafe could use some time away from pack stuff, and I figured what's more relaxing than watching my dad struggle with home improvement?”
“I'm not struggling.”
“You installed crooked window frames,” Evan said.
“One crooked frame.”
“Three,” Evan corrected. “I counted.”
Rafe had made it to the porch now, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes tracking over the house with that cataloging awareness all the wolves seemed to share. Up close, he looked younger than I'd thought. Early thirties, maybe, but with eyes that had seen too much.
“Michael,” he said quietly. “Thanks for letting me come.”
“Of course.” I stepped back, gestured them inside. “Fair warning, I'm apparently terrible at everything, so prepare to be underwhelmed.”
“That's not true,” Nate said loyally.
“You haven't seen the electrical work,” Evan muttered.
Inside, Rafe's eyes went wide. He turned slowly, taking in the new drywall, the fresh flooring, the window frames Evan had fixed.
“You did all this yourself?” he asked.
“Most of it. Evan's been helping with the parts I'm apparently too incompetent to handle.”
“The electrical work,” Evan said. “And the plumbing. And the framing. And—“
“We get it,” I cut him off. “I'm useless.”
“Not useless,” Nate said, examining the workbench. “Just... charmingly out of your depth.”
“I raised you better than this.”
“You raised me honest.” Nate picked up a drill, tested its weight. “So. What needs doing?”
I pointed toward the far wall where new shelving units waited to be installed. “Those need to go up. And before you ask, yes, I already checked for studs.”
“Did you?” Evan's tone suggested doubt.
“I've been doing this for thirty years.”
“And yet,” Evan gestured vaguely at everything.
Rafe made a sound that might have been a laugh, quickly smothered.
“You think this is funny?” I asked him.
“No, sir. I just—“ He ducked his head. “Evan said you were good at this.”
“Evan lied.”
“Evan was being diplomatic,” Evan corrected. He handed Rafe a level. “Here. Let's show Michael how it's really done.”
What followed was possibly the most humbling hour of my life.
Nate grabbed the first shelf unit like it weighed nothing, held it against the wall one-handed while Evan marked placement points.
Rafe climbed a ladder I definitely remembered being heavier, moved it around the room like it was made of cardboard.
Even their coordination was supernatural—passing tools without asking, anticipating each other's movements, working with a synchronization that made my careful measurements look clumsy.
“You're all showing off,” I said, watching Nate hang another shelf without bothering to check if it was level first. It was, of course. Perfectly.
Rafe smiled at that, quick and genuine before he caught himself and went serious again.
“See, even the new guy thinks it's funny,” I muttered.
“I'm not—“ Rafe started, then stopped. “I mean, I'm not laughing at you.”
“Michael,” I corrected his unspoken 'sir'. “And yes you are. It's fine. I'm old and slow and apparently terrible at basic construction. My back already hurts just watching you people move furniture around.”
“You're not old,” Nate said.
“I'm forty-six. In wolf years, that probably makes me ancient.”
“In wolf years, you'd be about six,” Evan said. “We age differently.”
“That's worse. I'm being shown up by six-year-olds.”
Nate laughed outright at that. Rafe's smile crept back, less hesitant this time.
“Hand me that drill?” Nate asked. I tossed it to him. He caught it without looking, still holding the shelf steady with his other hand. “Thanks.”
“Show-off.”
“Genetically predisposed to excellence,” Nate said. “Can't help it.”
I grabbed another shelf unit, tried to lift it the way Nate had. It was heavy. Properly heavy. I got it about waist-high before my lower back made its opinion known.
“Damn it.” I grunted, setting it back down. “How much does this thing weigh?”
“About eighty pounds,” Evan said.
“And you just picked it up one-handed.”
“Wolf strength.” Evan shrugged. “It's useful.”
“It's obnoxious.”
“Jealousy doesn't look good on you,” Nate said, grinning.
Rafe hesitated, then picked up the shelf I'd been struggling with. Lifted it easily, carried it across the room. Set it down gentle as placing a book on a table.
“You too?” I asked him.