Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat down to a proper home-cooked dinner. Sure, he showed up at his parents’ place most Sundays, and yeah, sometimes he grabbed a bite with his sisters and their families, but this was different. Noah moved around the kitchen with practiced efficiency, pulling plates from cabinets Luke knew needed to be replaced and silverware from drawers that stuck. Eli chattered about his day, setting the table with only minor corrections from his dad about which side the fork belonged on.
It felt disturbingly…right. He didn’t feel like an intruder in their family routines. And Luke looked forward to enjoying a meal he didn’t eat while leaning over the kitchen counter.
“Mr. Luke, do you want to sit by me?” Eli patted the chair next to his, practically vibrating with excitement. “I made us a bigger disaster map!”
“Eli.” Noah’s steady voice held an edge of warning. “Remember what we talked about? Let Luke eat before you bombard him with house stuff.”
Luke waved off Noah’s concern, settling into the offered chair. “It’s fine. I like his enthusiasm.” He really did, which was part of the problem. Usually, kids got on his nerves after about five minutes. Even Megan’s kids wore his patience thin after some time, though he’d never admit that to his sister. But something about Eli’s earnest interest and quick mind drew Luke in. “Though your dad’s right—that lasagna smells too good to let it get cold.”
Noah set a massive dish on the table, and Luke’s mouth watered. Between the rich aroma of tomato sauce and herbs and the way Noah’s rolled-up sleeves revealed surprisingly muscular forearms, Luke was having trouble remembering why getting close to them was a bad idea. It was way too easy to imagine what it would be like for this to be routine.
“I really should find a way to prep smaller batches. We’ll be eating off this for the next few days,” Noah said, sliding into his own chair. “Hazard of cooking for a growing boy, I guess.”
“Dad makes the best lasagna,” Eli announced, bouncing slightly in his seat.
The lasagna was perfect—layers of pasta, meat, and cheese balanced perfectly, and the edges were crispy without being burned. Luke tried not to notice how Noah cut Eli’s portion into manageable bites, the way his throat worked as he sipped his water, or how the kitchen’s warm light caught golden highlights in his hair.
Shit . This was exactly what Keaton had warned him about. He was totally crushing on his sisters’ friend.
“Luke?” Noah’s voice pulled him back to the present. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just…” Luke gestured vaguely with his fork. “Trying to figure out where you learned to cook like this. Pretty sure when you were hanging out with my sisters, you lived on Ramen and pizza rolls.”
Noah’s laugh was surprising and genuine. “Let’s just say necessity is the mother of invention. When Eli started eating solid food, I realized I needed to step up my game. Jenna handled a lot of the cooking, but I didn’t want her having to do all the cooking when she was still in grad school.”
“Step up is an understatement.” Luke took another bite, definitely not watching how Noah’s expression softened when he looked at his son. “This is seriously good.”
“Thanks.” A slight flush colored Noah’s cheeks. “It’s nothing special, really. Just trial and error until I found what works.”
Like everything about this house, Luke thought. But he kept that observation to himself, focusing instead on his food and trying not to notice how perfectly Noah fit in this kitchen, even with its ancient appliances and stubborn drawers. Or how easy it would be to imagine more dinners like this, with updated cabinets and counters that didn’t slope toward the back wall and?—
Nope. Not going there.
“Can I show you the map now?” Eli asked around a mouthful of garlic bread. “I added treasure spots!”
“Eli, chew first.” But Noah’s admonishment held no heat, only fond exasperation. “And remember what we talked about? Luke’s here to discuss the repairs, not?—”
“It’s fine,” Luke interrupted, probably too quickly. “I always say the best contractors listen to everyone’s input. Even treasure hunters.”
Eli beamed, and Noah’s expression did something complicated Luke refused to analyze. This was just dinner. Business. A favor for Rachel that was rapidly spinning out of control.
Luke took another bite of lasagna, letting Eli’s chatter wash over him. He could handle this. He was a professional, after all. And if his stomach flipped while watching Noah and Eli’s easy interaction, well, that was just indigestion.
Probably.
“See?” As soon as he finished eating and was excused, Eli darted up the stairs, returning with a stack of white paper. Eli spread the disaster map across the empty space on the table, nearly knocking over his water glass in his enthusiasm. “The red X’s are still emergency spots, but I added blue circles for the weird noises and green stars for where we might find old stuff in the walls!”
Luke leaned closer, genuinely impressed by the detail. The kid had even added little notes in careful printing, things like noisy step #3 and window makes wistel sounds . More words were misspelled than correct, which only added to the charm. Some of it was useful information—the kind of details that might have taken Luke weeks to notice. Eli was obviously taking his job very seriously.
“This is great work, buddy.” Luke pointed to a cluster of blue circles. “Those noises in the walls—do they happen mostly at night?”
“Yeah! Dad says it’s just the pipes, but I think it might be ghosts.” Eli’s eyes widened. “Do you know about ghosts, Mr. Luke? Tommy says old houses are full of them.”
Noah made a sound that might have been a laugh or a groan. “Maybe we should save the ghost stories for another time.”
“But, Dad?—”
“Hey, Eli.” Luke cut in, recognizing the signs of an impending battle of wills. “Know what’s cooler than ghosts? The history behind these old walls. See this note you made about the squeaky floor in the hall? That might be telling us about the original layout of the house.”
Eli’s mouth formed a perfect O of surprise. “Really?”
“Really.” Luke found himself warming to the topic, drawn in by Eli’s genuine interest. “Houses like this are like time capsules. Every creak and groan is a story waiting to be told. The house is bigger now than when it was originally built, and those are called transition points.”
“Like a mystery book? Dad’s reading The Yellow House Mystery right now. He reads to me every night before bed.” Luke could tell how much the routine meant to Eli by the way he beamed as he talked about the book.
“Exactly.” Luke caught Noah watching them, and something soft in his expression made Luke’s chest tight. He cleared his throat, focusing back on Eli. “And you’ve already started solving it with this map.”
“Can we look for more clues?” Eli bounced in his seat. “Tommy’s dad hired boring guys that yelled at him to stay out of the way to fix their house. You’re way cooler. You actually explain stuff!”
And there it was—the kind of genuine compliment that hit way too close to home. Luke was used to deflecting praise about his work, usually with a joke or a quick change of subject. But something about Eli’s appreciation made him want to live up to it.
“Tell you what,” he said, carefully not looking at Noah, “how about you keep working on this map while your dad and I talk boring grown-up stuff? Document everything you notice, and next time I’m here, we can go over the final version and make a checklist of everything we want to do.”
“Promise?” Eli’s expression turned serious. “Because Tommy says his dad’s guys promised to let him help someday, but they never did.”
“I promise.” The words came easily, too easily. Luke could feel Noah’s gaze on him, heavy with something he couldn’t quite name. “And I always keep my promises.”
“Homework before treasure maps, Eli,” Noah insisted. Luke bit back a curse. He needed to remember this wasn’t his house and Eli wasn’t his kid. He had no right giving the boy directions when he had no clue about their usual routine. Even more distressing was the realization he sort of wanted it to be his place. He’d slotted in with this little family so easily. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine what a life with them might look like.
“Okay!” Eli gathered his map, then paused. “Can I have dessert while I work on it?”
Noah’s quiet laugh did something to Luke’s insides. “Homework first, then dessert. And since when do we have dessert?”
“Since Mr. Luke is here!” Eli’s logic was impeccable. “Company always gets dessert. That’s what Grandma Ellie says.”
“Pretty sure that’s not—” Noah started, but Luke couldn’t help jumping in.
“He’s got a point. Sweet & Simple had their triple chocolate cookies on special today.” Luke pulled a small paper bag from where he’d set it with his samples. “Thought they might help sweeten the deal when discussing budget numbers.”
Eli’s eyes lit up, but he looked to Noah for permission. Something about that small gesture, that implicit trust between father and son, made Luke’s throat tight. He watched Noah pretend to consider it, even though his lips were already twitching toward a smile.
“Homework first,” Noah said finally. “Then one cookie. The rest are for after dinner tomorrow.”
“Yes!” Eli pumped his fist. “Thanks, Mr. Luke! I’ll do my homework super fast!”
They watched him thunder up the stairs, disaster map clutched in one hand. Noah shook his head slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” Luke started gathering dishes, needing something to do with his hands. “Perks of having a sister who owns a bakery. Pretty sure it’s illegal to not bring dessert.”
“Still.” Noah joined him at the sink, close enough that their elbows brushed. “You’re already doing so much… I don’t want him to start expecting things every time you come over.”
Funny, since Luke was trying to remind himself of the same. He couldn’t make more of this than it was, and it couldn’t be a good sign that he was already looking forward to the evenings he’d be working here. Luke could tell himself all he wanted that he’d never had a crush on Noah, but he knew as well as Keaton it was a lie. And being around this grown-up version of the first boy he’d ever jerked off to was fucking with his head.
“It’s just cookies, Noah.” But it wasn’t, not really. It was the way Eli’s face had lit up, the way Noah’s smile had softened, the way this whole evening felt dangerously close to something Luke couldn’t afford to want. “Besides, everyone knows chocolate helps with tough decisions. And we’ve got plenty of those ahead of us.”
Noah glanced up, catching Luke’s gaze. Something electric passed between them, gone before Luke could name it. “Yeah,” Noah said softly. “I guess we do.”
Luke focused on rinsing plates, definitely not noticing the way Noah’s forearms flexed or how his hands moved with careful precision as he loaded the dishwasher. This was business. Just business.
So why did it feel like so much more?
Luke needed a moment to clear his head. “I need to run out to my truck before we get started. Want to work in here or in the living room?”
“I’ll meet you in the living room. Maybe it’ll be easier to think about if I’m not sitting in the middle of the war zone we’re trying to put back to rights.” Noah glanced over his shoulder. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Nah, I’ll grab my water bottle while I’m at the truck.” And maybe he’d chug the whole damned thing while trying to remind himself why he was here.
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you in there once I get the dishwasher started.”
Noah entered the living room from one side as Luke closed the front door.
“So,” Luke said, spreading cabinet samples across Noah’s coffee table, “we’ve got a few options here. The originals are pretty beat up, but we could restore what’s salvageable and build matching replacements for the ones that are too far gone. Or”—he pulled out another set of samples—“we go with something completely new but keep with the house’s character.”
Noah settled onto the couch beside him, close enough that Luke could smell his cologne—something subtle and clean that made him think dangerous thoughts. “What would you do?”
“Honestly?” Luke ran his fingers along a piece of quarter-sawn oak, letting the grain ground him. “If it were my house, I’d restore what I could. These cabinets tell a story, you know? Each ding and scratch is like a chapter in the house’s history. And the design is simple enough that I could probably build something to match, so you wouldn’t have to pay as much for them.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?” Noah’s voice was soft, curious. “About houses having stories?”
“Yeah, I do.” Luke looked up, finding Noah watching him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. “My dad taught me that. He always said we’re not just fixing things. We’re preserving memories. Even when we’re making new ones. And I’d be willing to bet anyone who’s driven past this house has wondered about its history. This isn’t some mass-production home. It’s always been special.”
Something flickered in Noah’s expression. “Eli’s already convinced the house is full of secrets waiting to be discovered.”
“Smart kid.” Luke shifted, suddenly aware of how their knees were almost touching. “Speaking of discoveries, want to see something cool?”
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through photos until he found what he was looking for. “See this detail on your current cabinets? It’s hand-carved. Probably original to the house. You don’t find craftsmanship like that anymore. Even if we go with new cabinets, I think we should find a way to incorporate bits like this somewhere. It’d be a shame to throw someone’s hard work into a scrap pile.”
Noah leaned closer to see the screen, and Luke’s breath caught. He could feel the warmth radiating from Noah’s body, could see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the living room’s soft light. This was exactly the kind of situation Luke usually avoided—too intimate, too domestic, too…real.
“Beautiful,” Noah murmured, and Luke wasn’t sure if he meant the carvings or something else. “But how would you restore them without blowing my life’s savings? I can’t imagine reproductions of this would be cheap.”
“That’s why I suggested building something close enough to the originals rather than sourcing true reproductions.” Luke’s voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, if we restore them, we can maintain character while making them functional again. Then we can move the existing doors around so whatever doesn’t match exactly looks intentional.”
“Let’s do it.” Noah sat back, breaking whatever spell had started to weave around them.
Luke launched into a detailed explanation of potential issues, probably going into more depth than necessary. But Noah listened intently, asking smart questions and taking notes in precise handwriting. It was…distracting.
“Mr. Luke!” Eli’s voice carried down the stairs. “I finished my homework! Can I have my cookie now?”
The interruption was both welcome and disappointing. Luke gathered the samples, careful not to let his hands brush Noah’s. “We can go over the rest later. Pretty sure we’ve got a very eager treasure hunter waiting for his reward.”
“Yeah.” Noah stood, running a hand through his hair in a gesture Luke was starting to recognize as a sign of nerves. “Thanks for…all of this. The samples, the explanations. The cookies.”
“Just doing my job.” The lie tasted bitter. Because this—the easy conversation, the lingering looks, the way his chest tightened when Noah smiled—was definitely not part of the job. “Though maybe we should save the rest of the technical stuff for when we don’t have an audience waiting for chocolate.”
Noah’s laugh was soft, real. “Probably wise. Though I have to warn you, once he gets that cookie, you’ll be his favorite person forever.”
“I can think of worse things,” Luke said before he could stop himself. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air felt charged with possibility.
Then Eli thundered down the stairs, and the moment shattered like old window glass.
Luke watched Eli demolish his cookie with the single-minded focus only a six-year-old could manage, trying to ignore how domestic the scene felt. Noah had made coffee—“because you can’t have cookies without coffee, right?”—and now they were all gathered around the kitchen table like some kind of…family.
The thought hit him like a physical blow. His sisters would have a field day if they could hear him thinking that sort of craziness. Luke needed to remember he was the hookup guy, not the picket fence and family sort.
Keaton’s words from the bar echoed in his head: “What happens when you fall for him?” As if that were even a possibility. Luke didn’t do relationships. He definitely didn’t do straight guys with kids. He had a system, dammit, and it worked. Meet someone at a bar or through an app, have some fun, maybe hook up again if the chemistry was good, but never, ever let it get complicated.
This? This was nothing but complications.
“Mr. Luke?” Eli’s voice pulled him back to the present. “How come you’re not eating your cookie?”
“Just saving the best for last, buddy.” Luke forced a smile, breaking off a piece of the cookie he’d forgotten he was holding. It was perfect—rich and chocolatey, classic Megan. But it tasted like ash in his mouth.
Because he could see it all too clearly: more dinners like this, weekend projects with Eli, quiet moments with Noah after the kid was in bed. The kind of life his parents had and his sisters had found. The kind of life he’d convinced himself he didn’t want.
“Earth to Luke.” Noah’s voice was amused. “You okay? You looked a million miles away.”
No, he wasn’t okay. Because Noah’s concerned expression was doing things to his insides, making him want things he swore weren’t for him. The only time he’d tried for something real—god, had it really been five years ago?—had ended in spectacular failure. Luke had sworn then that he was done with relationships, done with the mess of emotions and expectations and inevitable disappointment.
But watching Noah help Eli wipe chocolate from his chin, seeing the easy affection between them…made Luke’s chest ache with want.
“Just thinking about the cabinet restoration,” he lied. “It’s going to be a bigger job than I first thought.”
Not technically a lie—the cabinets would be a massive undertaking. But it wasn’t what had him gripping his coffee mug like a lifeline.
“We can look at other options,” Noah offered, and damn him for being so reasonable. “If it’s too much?—”
“No,” Luke said quickly, too quickly. “The restoration’s the right choice. These cabinets deserve to be saved.”
Just like this house deserved to be saved. Just like Noah and Eli deserved someone who could give them the home they wanted. Someone stable, reliable, who didn’t have a history of running when things got too real.
Someone not like Luke.
“Dad?” Eli’s voice was heavy with sleep. “Can Mr. Luke read me a story before bed?”
And there it was—the moment Luke had been dreading. Because he should say no. Should maintain a professional distance. Should remember all the reasons why getting invested in this family was a terrible idea.
But Noah was looking at him with those soft eyes, and Eli’s hopeful expression was a direct hit to his chest, and Luke found himself saying, “Maybe another time, buddy. It’s getting late, and your dad probably wants to start your bedtime routine.”
“But—”
“Eli.” Noah’s tone held no room for argument. “Luke’s right. Time for bed. Say goodnight.”
Luke watched Eli trudge upstairs, shoulders slumped in dramatic disappointment, and felt like the world’s biggest asshole. But it was better this way. Better to establish boundaries now, before anyone got too attached.
Before he got too attached.
“Sorry about that,” Noah said once Eli was out of earshot. “He gets fixated on people sometimes. I should have warned you.”
“It’s fine.” Luke stood, gathering his samples with careful precision. “Kids are like that.”
But Eli wasn’t just like that. He was smart, observant, and genuinely interested in what Luke did. He asked good questions, made clever connections, and looked at Luke like he hung the moon.
It was terrifying.
“You’re good with him,” Noah said quietly. “Not everyone is, you know? Especially not…”
“Not what?” Luke’s voice came out sharper than intended. “Not contractors? Not guys who fix things for a living?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
No, Luke knew exactly what Noah meant. Not everyone could handle kids, especially not confirmed bachelors who lived for their work and kept their personal lives carefully casual. Not everyone could slide so easily into family dinners, homework help, and bedtime stories.
Not everyone wanted to.
Except…maybe he did. And that thought was scarier than any haunted house Eli could imagine.
“Just one more thing before I go.” Luke pulled out a final sample, desperately trying to maintain professional distance. “The hardware for the cabinets. We could match the original style, or…”
He trailed off as Noah leaned close, fingers brushing over the aged brass pulls Luke had sourced from a specialty supplier. They were perfect reproductions of what would have been original to the house, right down to the subtle patina.
“These are beautiful,” Noah murmured, and Luke made the mistake of looking up.
They were too close. Close enough that Luke could see the flecks of gold in Noah’s brown eyes, could count his eyelashes if he wanted to. Could lean in just a few inches and?—
“They’re hand-cast,” Luke said quickly, jerking back. “This guy in Vermont makes them. Costs a bit more, but?—”
“Worth it?” Noah’s voice was soft, questioning, and Luke wasn’t sure they were talking about cabinet hardware anymore.
“Yeah.” Luke’s throat felt dry. “Some things are worth the investment.”
Their hands brushed as Noah reached for another sample, and electricity shot up Luke’s arm. He pulled back like he’d been burned, nearly knocking over his empty coffee mug.
“Careful,” Noah steadied the mug, his fingers wrapping around Luke’s wrist for just a moment. “Wouldn’t want to break anything.”
Too late for that, Luke thought hysterically. Something was definitely breaking—his resolve, his professional distance, his carefully constructed walls.
“Dad!” Eli’s voice carried down the stairs, shattering the moment. “I can’t find Captain America!”
Noah’s hand dropped away. “Be right there!” He turned back to Luke, expression apologetic. “Sorry, it’s his favorite stuffed?—”
“No problem.” Luke gathered his samples with shaking hands. “I should head out anyway. Early day tomorrow.”
“Right. Of course.” Was that disappointment in Noah’s voice? No, Luke was definitely imagining things. “Thanks for coming by. And for the cookies.”
“Anytime.” The word slipped out before Luke could stop it. He needed to get out of here before he said something even more dangerous. “I’ll email you the final numbers tomorrow before placing an order for materials.”
“Luke—”
“Dad!” Eli again, more insistent. “I looked everywhere!”
“You should go,” Luke said, already backing toward the door. “Can’t leave a boy without his Captain America.”
Noah’s laugh followed him, settling somewhere beneath his ribs where it had no business being. Luke barely remembered saying goodnight, barely registered the drive home. His mind was too full of soft brown eyes and gentle hands and the way Noah moved through his kitchen like he belonged there.
The way Luke could imagine belonging there too.
Luke sat in his truck outside his own house, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The engine ticked as it cooled, counting seconds like a metronome keeping time with his racing thoughts.
This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t falling for a straight guy with a kid. He definitely wasn’t imagining more family dinners, more homework sessions, more quiet moments in the kitchen that needed so much work but somehow already felt like…
“No,” he said aloud, the word sharp in the quiet cab. “Not doing this.”
He needed to make a list. That’s what Keaton would tell him to do—break it down, analyze the problems, find solutions. Like assessing a renovation project. Clinical. Professional.
Reasons This Can’t Happen:
Noah is straight. (Probably. Maybe.)
He’s a client. Professional ethics exist for a reason.
There’s a kid involved. A great kid who already looks at me like I’m some kind of hero.
I don’t do relationships.
The project is too important to mess up with personal complications.
Noah deserves better than my commitment issues.
Eli deserves better than someone who might disappear.
I’m not cut out for…any of this.
“There,” he muttered, letting his head fall back against the seat. “Eight solid reasons why this is a terrible idea.”
But his traitorous mind kept replaying moments from dinner—Noah’s quiet laugh, Eli’s excitement over the disaster map, the way the kitchen had felt warm and welcoming despite its dated fixtures and stubborn drawers. The way Luke could so easily imagine making it better, making it…
“Stop it.” He unbuckled his seatbelt with more force than necessary. “You’re too damned young to have a midlife crisis.”
Right. He just needed to get laid. Clear his head. Maybe he’d drive out to Murphy’s this weekend, find someone uncomplicated who wouldn’t look at him with soft brown eyes, someone who didn’t have a kid who asked Luke to read him bedtime stories before he left.
Luke climbed out of his truck, feet crunching on his gravel driveway. His workshop stood dark and quiet, a reminder of simpler times when all he had to worry about was grain patterns and joint strength. Not the way Noah’s forearms looked with his sleeves rolled up, or how Eli’s face lit up at the mention of treasure hunting, or…
“Fuck.” Luke pressed his forehead against his front door, keys dangling forgotten from his hand. “Get it together, Garrett.”
Inside, his house felt empty in a way it never had before. No disaster maps on the fridge, no homework spread across the table, no quiet conversations over coffee and cookies. Just Luke and his carefully ordered life, exactly as he’d always wanted it.
Right?
His phone buzzed—a message from Noah.
Thanks again for coming for dinner. Eli won’t stop talking about your treasure-hunting theories. Also, found these behind one of the broken drawers. Thought you’d appreciate them.
The attached photo showed a stack of old postcards, their edges yellowed with age. Luke could make out postmarks from the 1940s, little glimpses into the history of those who called the house home long ago.
Before he could stop himself, Luke typed.
Keep them safe. Might be cool to frame some of them if you’re into that sort of thing. The house might be starting to trust you with her secrets.
Noah’s reply was immediate.
Every secret needs someone to appreciate it.
Luke stared at the words until his vision blurred. Then, deliberately, he set his phone face-down on the counter. He couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t do this. He had a job to do, cabinets to restore, a house to fix.
That’s all it was. All it could be.
If he repeated it enough times, maybe he’d even believe it.