Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rain pelted the Tillerman’s windows as Luke gathered his tools, trying to wrap up for the night. Thunder rattled the expensive new fixtures the owner had insisted on, and Luke couldn’t help comparing them to the worn but solid hardware in Noah’s house. He should’ve been home hours ago, but he was trying to get ahead of schedule here so he didn’t have to work overtime next week, once the first round of supplies for Noah’s house came in.
When Keaton called earlier, asking him to stop by and make sure everything was tarped before the evening’s storms, it had seemed like a great time to go over the week’s progress and make notes without the guys on the crew bugging the shit out of him.
His phone buzzed—probably Keaton checking on storm preparations—but when he glanced at the screen, Noah’s name flashed instead.
Luke’s stomach dropped. Noah never called this late. Hell, Noah never called. It had always been Luke initiating contact.
“Hey, what’s?—”
“Luke.” Noah’s voice cracked with panic. “There’s water coming through the ceiling. Everywhere. I’ve got buckets, but—” A crash in the background, followed by Eli’s voice yelling something about indoor waterfalls. “Shit. The dining room ceiling just started…”
That wasn’t good at all. The dining room was the only room on the first floor without anything above it. Luke had already planned on pulling everything down to the studs, but they’d planned to hold off on that project until after the kitchen was completed.
“I’m on my way.” Luke was already moving, shoving supplies into his emergency kit. “Try to move as much as you can into a different room, get tarps over anything important you can’t move, and?—”
“Luke?” Noah’s voice pulled him back. “I know it’s late, and you probably have other?—”
Another crash, this one followed by a shriek from Eli. Luke couldn’t tell if the boy was scared or excited about the destruction in the way only little boys could be.
“I’m already in my truck,” Luke said, which wasn’t quite true but would be in about thirty seconds. “Ten minutes, tops. Just…try to keep Eli away from the worst of it.”
The drive to Noah’s seemed endless. Luke hit both red lights in town, his windshield wipers fighting a losing battle against the deluge. He tried not to think about water damage, about the potential structural damage, about all the ways this storm could turn Noah’s dream house into an uninhabitable nightmare.
He really tried not to think about how quickly he’d dropped everything at the sound of panic in Noah’s voice. How it had nothing to do with the old home being a dream project for him and everything to do with wanting Noah to understand he could count on Luke.
The house’s turrets loomed against the storm-dark sky, its windows glowing like worried eyes. Luke barely remembered to grab his tool bag before sprinting through the rain, taking the slick porch steps two at a time, praying he didn’t fall and break his neck.
The door flew open before he could knock. Noah stood in the entrance, water dripping from his hair, his usually pristine button-down clinging to his shoulders. “Thank god. Chunks of the dining room ceiling keep falling. Pretty soon, there’ll be nothing left of it, and we’ll have an indoor pool.”
“Dad! Mr. Luke!” Eli appeared behind his father, practically vibrating with excitement. “The house is making waterfalls! Is this what you meant about houses having secrets?”
“Not exactly, buddy.” Luke stepped inside, assessing the damage. Water streamed down the walls in inelegant rivulets, turning the ancient wallpaper into wet tissue. The ceiling’s water stains had transformed into active leaks, creating an indoor weather system that would have been fascinating if it wasn’t so catastrophic. “Where’s the worst of it?”
“Upstairs first,” Noah decided, already leading the way. “I don’t care about the dining room, but there’s no way Eli can sleep in his room the way it is. I’m just hoping I got the mattress and box spring out of there quick enough they won’t get moldy.”
“My bathroom’s a splash pad!” Eli bounced along behind them. “Can we get a waterslide if it gets deeper?”
Despite everything, Luke had to bite back a smile. Trust a six-year-old to find adventure in disaster. But Noah’s expression was pure anguish as they reached the second floor, and Luke’s amusement evaporated. “Yeah, so the half-bath is pretty bad too.”
While splash pad might have been an exaggeration, the bathroom floor was indeed flooded. Water cascaded from a massive crack in the ceiling, saturating the floor. The overflow had found every weakness in the floor, creating a network of leaks that threatened the rooms below.
“Eli,” Luke said, keeping his voice steady, “I need your help. Remember how we talked about documenting everything?”
Eli’s eyes lit up. “The disaster map!”
“Exactly. Think you can add all the new leaks? It’s super important we know where everything is.” As much as he liked the kid, his dad looked about ready to lose his shit. When that happened—not if—Luke wanted Eli out of earshot.
“On it!” Eli darted off, presumably to fetch his prized notebook.
Noah watched him go, something complicated crossing his features. “You’re good at that. Keeping him distracted.”
“Yeah, well”—Luke set down his tools, studying the ceiling crack—“sometimes the best way to handle chaos is to give it a job.” He glanced at Noah, noting the way his hands trembled slightly. “That goes for grown-ups too. Want to help?”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the storm’s chaos faded. Then thunder cracked directly overhead, making them both jump.
“Right.” Luke turned back to his tools. “As much as I’d love to tell you everything’s going to be okay, I won’t insult you like that. But I will say everything’s still fixable. There’s no point in getting buckets for all of this. I’m going to run out to my truck and grab a wet-dry vacuum. I want you to work on sucking up as much of this water as you can so it doesn’t do more damage to the ceilings below. I’m going to see if I can get up on the roof to put some tarps over the worst areas.”
“Are you insane?” Noah’s voice echoed off the walls of the small room. “If it was windier out there, this would be an inland hurricane. You can’t be up on a ladder.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure we have many other options.” Luke pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly opening the weather app. “By the time I get started, it looks like we should be between waves of this storm. I promise I’ll be as safe as I can, but I don’t think either of us wants there to be more damage.”
Noah crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “If it’s all the same to you, what I don’t want is for you to slide off the roof and then I have to explain to your sisters that you died trying to help me.”
“Quit being dramatic.” Luke waved him off. “I promise, if it’s not safe for me to be up there, I’ll come down. But I think I’ll be fine.” He pulled back the sheer curtain covering the small window in the room. “See? It’s already starting to let up a bit. Perfect timing.”
“Shit.” Luke heard a noise overhead and moved without thinking, grabbing Noah’s arm and pulling him away from the wall as a section of the ceiling gave way. They stumbled backward, Noah’s back hitting Luke’s chest as water and plaster rained down.
For three hammering heartbeats, they stood frozen. Luke could feel Noah’s rapid breathing, could smell the rain on his skin mixed with traces of that subtle cologne. His hands had somehow found Noah’s waist, steadying him, and Noah’s fingers were wrapped around Luke’s forearms like anchors in a storm.
“Dad! Mr. Luke!” Eli’s voice carried up the stairs. “The dining room’s making weird noises again!”
They sprang apart like teenagers caught making out. Luke cleared his throat, determinedly not looking at the way Noah’s wet shirt clung to his shoulders. “We should…”
“Yeah.” Noah ran a hand through his damp hair. “Do you think?—”
Another crash, this one from downstairs.
“Eli!” Noah called, already moving. “Stay in the kitchen!”
They found Eli in the hallway, disaster map clutched to his chest, staring wide-eyed at the dining room ceiling. Another massive bulge had formed in the plaster, water dripping steadily from its center.
“Cool,” Eli breathed. “It’s like a water balloon!”
“Not cool,” Luke corrected, assessing the damage. “That’s about to—” The plaster creaked ominously. “Noah, grab Eli. Now.”
Noah scooped up his son as the ceiling surrendered to gravity. Water cascaded down, bringing chunks of hundred-year-old plaster with it. Eli squealed in delight, but Luke caught Noah’s expression—pure devastation as he watched his home literally fall apart.
“Hey.” Luke touched Noah’s shoulder, grounding him. “We can fix this. All of it. But right now, we need to contain the damage before?—”
Thunder drowned out his next words, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way Noah looked at him—desperate, trusting, like Luke was the only thing standing between his family and disaster. What mattered was how Eli’s excitement had shifted to concern as he watched his father’s face. What mattered was the sudden, crushing realization that Luke couldn’t walk away from them if he tried.
Luke stepped into Noah’s personal space, taking Eli’s hand to hold his attention as he spoke. “Buddy, this is very important. I need to know you can follow my directions.”
The boy pursed his lips, nodding solemnly.
“Good. I need you to stay in the kitchen for a little bit.” Somehow, the room they thought was the priority had tumbled to the bottom of the list. While it wasn’t pretty, it was mostly functional, and it wouldn’t do any good to do any renovation as long as the roof was leaking and the ceiling was saturated. Luke could handle the interior work, but he’d have to call in some favors for the roofing. “I promise that as soon as we have a job you can help us with, I’ll put you to work. But for now, what your dad and I really need is to know you’re safe. Got it?”
Eli gave a quick nod. “Got it, Mr. Luke. Should I keep taking notes on the map?”
Luke didn’t have the heart to tell Eli the map was a lost cause at this point. Everything they’d thought the house needed had been upended by the storm. But that was something a six-year-old didn’t need to worry himself with.
“You can, but only write down things you know without having to leave the kitchen until your dad tells you it’s okay to leave the room. If you finish with that, I want you to start a new page with ideas for what you want your bedroom to look like when it’s done.”
“I can design my own room?” Eli looked to Noah for confirmation.
“Sure,” Noah responded with a resigned sigh. At this point, Luke doubted he could imagine them getting the house back into shape for them to live in, much less consider renovating. “Do what Luke said, and then we’ll look at your plans.”
Eli slipped on the sopping floor as he rushed into the kitchen. Once he was gone, Noah sagged against the wall. “Do you seriously think this can be fixed?”
“Yep,” Luke reassured him. “It’s going to require a lot of sweat equity to keep the costs down, but we’re going to set everything to rights. Trust me?”
“Not like I have much of a choice, is there?” Noah flinched at his own words. “I’m sorry, that was shitty of me to say. I’m just… This place was supposed to be a fresh start for Eli. I hoped that by moving back here, he wouldn’t be so upset about how often Jenna is gone or the fact I couldn’t stand the idea of raising him in the city.”
“And it will be.” Luke stepped closer, gripping Noah’s shoulder. “This is a setback for sure, but I’m not giving up. Are you?”
Noah squared his shoulders, looking directly into Luke’s gaze. “No. I have no clue what sort of miracle worker you are, but I’m not quitting.”
“Okay,” he said, pulling out his phone. “First, I’m going to call Keaton to see if he can get us some more plastic tarps and dehumidifiers. While Keaton and I work on covering the roof, you’ll work on getting up as much water as you can.” He met Noah’s gaze steadily. “Once the storm passes, we make a new plan. A real one, not just patchwork repairs. This house needs someone who understands its quirks, who can anticipate its needs. Someone who?—”
“Someone like you,” Noah finished quietly.
The words hung between them, heavy with implications. Luke should say no. Should recommend another contractor, someone without his complicated feelings and messy attraction. Should maintain a professional distance.
Instead, he said, “Yeah. Someone like me.”
Because the truth was, he was already in too deep. Had been since that first day, when Eli’s enthusiasm and Noah’s quiet determination had cracked something in Luke’s carefully constructed walls. The storm had just made it impossible to ignore.
“Mr. Luke?” Eli’s voice was smaller now, less excited. He cowered in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, his feet safely on the kitchen’s linoleum. “You can fix it, right? You won’t let our house fall down?”
Luke looked at the kid who trusted him completely, at the man who’d called him for help when he was at his breaking point, at the house that seemed determined to bring them all together.
“No, buddy,” he said softly. “I won’t let your house fall down. Promise.”
Noah must have seen something in his expression because he asked, “You’re sure? This is… It’s a lot. More than we originally discussed. Eli’s going to have to sleep with me for a while. The dining room is destroyed?—”
“It’s going to be okay.” Luke managed a smile. “Some things are worth the extra effort. I’m going up to the attic so I can figure out where the water is coming from.”
“I’m coming with you,” Noah insisted. Luke turned to tell him he didn’t need to but the stern look on Noah’s face warned him this wasn’t up for discussion. For the sake of efficiency, Luke simply headed down the hall to the access panel.
The attic smelled of wet wood and old secrets. Every step had to be carefully placed—one wrong move, and they’d join the plaster currently decorating the bathroom floor.
“Watch that crossbeam,” Luke warned, reaching back to steady Noah as his foot slipped on rain-slick wood. “The previous owners’ repair work up here is…creative.”
“Creative how?” Noah’s voice was close behind him, warm breath ghosting across Luke’s neck.
Luke’s flashlight illuminated their answer—a patchwork of mismatched lumber held together with what appeared to be baling wire and optimism. “See where they spliced these supports? Amateur job. No proper joints, just… They basically created a funnel for water to collect. Any heavy rain, and it all channels right into your bathroom ceiling.”
“Shit.” Noah moved closer, his chest brushing Luke’s back as he leaned in to examine the damage. “How did the inspector miss this?”
“Bold of you to assume there was an inspection.” Luke tried to focus on the rotted wood instead of the way Noah’s proximity made his skin prickle. “Most flippers cut corners wherever they can. But this…” He shifted his flashlight, revealing more jerry-rigged repairs. “This is beyond cutting corners. This is negligence. I assure you, we’ll be investigating how none of this was mentioned to you once we get the house back to rights.”
Luke would call in every favor he needed to because someone was going to pay for part of these damages. He wasn’t about to say as much to Noah, but part of him was beginning to wonder if the house shouldn’t have been condemned. It would have been a shame, but maybe that would have been the best solution for everyone.
Thunder rattled the roof, and Noah’s hand found Luke’s shoulder. Whether seeking balance or comfort, Luke couldn’t tell. Probably both.
“Can it be fixed?”
Such a simple question. Such a complicated answer.
“Yes,” Luke said finally. “But not quickly, and not cheaply. We’d need to—” His light caught something wedged between the rafters. “Hold up. What’s that?”
He pulled out a stack of letters neatly wrapped in frayed twine. Somehow, they’d managed to escape the deluge of water. Eli would love this.
Luke traced the wood grain with his fingers, remembering his father’s lessons about letting houses tell their stories. “See how the wood’s darker here? Water’s been getting in for years, but slowly. Recent repairs made it worse by trapping moisture instead of directing it out.”
He became aware that Noah was watching him, not the rafters. “What?”
“Nothing, just…” Noah’s voice was soft in the storm-muffled attic. “You really love this stuff, don’t you? Old houses, their stories.”
“Yeah, well.” Luke busied himself examining another support beam. “Someone has to care about these places. Their history, their character. Otherwise, we end up with more cookie-cutter subdivisions like—” He stopped before mentioning the Tillerman project. While true that it was a huge project for the construction company, the new build bored him.
“Like what the realtor wanted me to buy?” Noah’s laugh held no humor. “Believe me, I looked. But this place…” He gestured around the attic, taking in the massive beams and complex joinery. “Even with all its problems, it felt right. Like it was waiting for us.”
The words hit Luke somewhere beneath his ribs. Because that’s exactly how it felt—like the house had been waiting. Not just for Noah and Eli, but for someone who could help it become a home again.
For someone like Luke.
Lightning flashed through the attic’s tiny windows, illuminating Noah’s face. In that brief moment, Luke saw everything—the worry lines around his eyes, the determination in his jaw, the trust in his expression that made Luke’s chest ache.
“We should check the other side,” Luke said roughly, needing to move before he did something stupid like touch Noah’s face or promise to fix everything. “The drainage issues probably extend?—”
His foot found a weak spot in the flooring. Noah’s hand shot out, grabbing Luke’s wrist and pulling him back before he could fall through. They stumbled together, Luke’s back hitting a support beam as Noah’s momentum carried him forward.
And suddenly, they were chest to chest, Noah’s hands still gripping Luke’s wrists, their breath mingling in the humid air. Luke could feel Noah’s heartbeat, rabbit-fast against his own. Could see each water droplet clinging to his eyelashes.
Could imagine, for one dangerous moment, closing the inch between them.
“Noah—” Luke started, but his voice was barely a whisper, too fragile to fill the charged space between them. Noah’s eyes darted to his, wide and searching, his usual self-assured demeanor cracked open to reveal something raw, unguarded.
“I—” Noah swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his grip on Luke’s wrists softened but didn’t let go. His eyes flicked down to Luke’s mouth, and Luke swore the world stopped turning for a heartbeat. Maybe two. “I don’t know what’s happening right now,” Noah murmured so quietly it could have been meant for himself.
But Luke heard it. Felt the words like a spark against his skin. And against every shred of self-preservation, he replied, “Maybe we don’t have to figure it out right now.”
The corner of Noah’s mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite let himself. “Luke, I—” he started again, but then his voice caught, and he stopped trying to find words. Instead, he took a single, trembling breath and closed the space between them.
It wasn’t a tentative kiss, not like Luke would have expected from someone he’d assumed was straight. It was warm and desperate like Noah had been holding his breath for years and had finally exhaled. Luke’s hands found Noah’s shoulders, gripping to steady himself against the dizzying pull of it. Noah’s lips were softer than he’d imagined.
A shriek from downstairs shattered the moment. “Dad!” Eli’s voice carried up through the house. “The bucket’s overflowing!”
They sprang apart like lightning had struck between them. Noah cleared his throat. “I should…”
“Yeah.” Luke ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Go. I’ll finish up here and then get the vacuum for you. Keaton should be here soon with the tarps and fans.”
But Noah paused at the attic stairs. “Luke? What would you do? If this was your house?”
The question carried weight beyond its simple words. Because this wasn’t just about repairs anymore. This was about trust, about letting someone in, about admitting you couldn’t fix everything alone. Luke could sense a vulnerability in Noah’s question, and he wished like hell he could ease what was actually worrying him.
“Honestly?” Luke met Noah’s gaze in the flashlight’s beam. “I’d recognize that some projects are too big for one person. Sometimes, you need someone who loves the house as much as you do. Someone who…” He swallowed. “Someone who cares about doing it right, not just fast.”
“Someone like you,” Noah said again, but this time the words held something more. Something that made Luke’s pulse skip and his carefully constructed walls tremble.
“Go,” Luke said softly. “I’ve got things up here.”
He watched Noah descend, trying not to think about how far things would have gone if Eli hadn’t interrupted them. Chances were already high that Noah would freak out at the first opportunity. Luke had to hope the best kiss of his life didn’t make Noah call off letting him fix the house after the storm passed.
“Focus,” Luke muttered, turning back to the damaged rafters. He had a job to do. A house to save. A family to protect.
Everything else—the way Noah’s trust made his chest tight, the way Eli’s faith terrified him, the way this whole situation was rapidly spinning beyond his control—would have to wait.
But as he examined the complex network of repairs needed, Luke knew he was past the point of no return. This house, these people…were under his skin now. Part of him in a way he couldn’t ignore.
The storm raged on, but inside, something had shifted. Like the house itself had orchestrated this moment, forcing Luke to admit what he’d known since that first inspection: he was all-in.
Professional distance be damned.
Three a.m. found Luke in his workshop, hands busy with wood while his mind refused to settle. The storm had finally passed, leaving behind a silence that should have been peaceful but felt charged with possibility. Like the air after lightning strikes, waiting for thunder’s confirmation.
His phone sat silently on the workbench, the screen dark since Noah’s last text.
Eli’s finally asleep. Thanks again for coming out.
He’d attached a photo that had knocked the breath from Luke’s lungs—Eli curled up in Noah’s bed, clutching his Captain America teddy bear, disaster map spread across the covers like a shield against bad dreams.
Luke’s hands stilled. He wasn’t even sure what he was making anymore. His usual precise measurements had given way to intuitive cuts, letting muscle memory guide his tools while his thoughts circled like water finding its level.
Water. God, there had been so much of it. Streaming down walls, dripping through ceilings, finding every weakness in the old house’s bones. But what haunted him wasn’t the damage—it was Noah’s face when that first ceiling collapsed. The way his carefully maintained control had cracked, showing the vulnerability beneath.
The way he’d looked at Luke like he was the answer to a question Noah hadn’t known he was asking.
“Stop it,” Luke muttered, reaching for his sander. The machine’s familiar vibration grounded him, but not enough to drown out the memory of Noah’s body pressed against his in the attic, of shared breath and almost possibilities.
His phone lit up.
Can’t sleep. Keep thinking about the house’s story. What else is it trying to tell us?
Luke’s hands shook as he set down the sander. Us . Such a simple word, but it leaked into the cracks of his defenses.
Instead of responding, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. His drafting table waited in the corner, pristine and precise, but he stayed at his workbench. This wasn’t about perfect angles and measured decisions. This was about…
His pencil moved before he could overthink it. The house’s lines emerged on the paper, not as it was but as it could be. Built-in bookshelves in the living room to showcase father and son’s extensive collection of books. A reading nook under the stairs, with a secret compartment that would make Eli’s treasure-hunting dreams come true. Kitchen cabinets restored to their original glory, with modern conveniences hidden behind historic facades.
A home. He was designing a home.
His phone buzzed again.
Eli asked again if I’ll let you build him a treehouse. No pressure, just sharing the latest request from your biggest fan. I told him it would have to wait until the house was livable again.
Luke’s breath caught. Because he could see it—not just a treehouse, but a whole future. Weekend projects with Eli, quiet evenings with Noah, the satisfaction of bringing this house back to life piece by piece. The kind of life he’d convinced himself he didn’t want, couldn’t have.
The kind of life that terrified him because of how much he suddenly wanted it.