Chapter 38
Hope
I watch as Kaden carefully lifts the door panel of the built-in wardrobe, angling it upward into the top track and guiding the rollers into place before lowering the base into the bottom rail. The door settles easily with a soft, reassuring click.
He runs it back and forth a few times, slowly and steadily, listening for the faintest scrape, or watching for the slightest catch in its glide, until it moves smoothly and true.
We’re in my guest room, putting the finishing touches on the last of the built-in-wardrobes, or rather, Kaden is. What would have taken me a week to get through, he completed in a matter of hours. Thank goodness for a friend who knows his way around tools.
As for me, I haven’t been much help so far. I did manage to finish painting the kitchen cabinets, choosing a soft sage green to sit against the beautiful marble countertops I had installed a few months ago. But aside from that, I’ve been perfectly content watching Kaden work his magic on my house.
He’s dressed in a fitted black shirt, khaki shorts, steel-cap boots, and a tool belt slung low around his hips—and even I have to admit, he’s quite a sight.
You’d never guess he works in an office just by looking at him.
In this room, he looks every bit the hot tradie—efficient, skilled, entirely at ease.
And the tattoos that spill along his arms and neck? They should be downright illegal.
I should be painting the living room walls right now, but instead, I keep finding reasons to drift wherever he goes.
I’ve asked him at least a hundred times if he needs a drink, a snack, a hand with anything at all.
And every time I step into a room with him in it, that faint smirk curves at the corner of his mouth—like he knows exactly what I’m up to.
“It looks so much better now,” I say with a smile, my fingers trailing along the smooth edge of the door before I lift my gaze to his. “Thank you, Kaden—really, for doing this.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” he replies. “As you can see, it didn’t take me long to finish.”
“This would’ve taken me weeks to finish,” I admit with a soft breath. “You’ve saved me so much time. How will I ever repay you?”
“Well,” he says, a teasing note in his voice, “I might just take you up on that ham and cheese toastie if the offer still stands?”
“Of course. Come on...it’s time for a break.”
He follows me into the kitchen, unfastening his tool belt and draping it over the back of one of the bar stools before lowering himself onto another.
I gather the ingredients from the fridge and line them up along the island—sourdough bread, butter, thin slices of honey ham, generous layers of cheddar cheese.
While I assemble the sandwiches, Kaden stays seated across from me, elbows resting on the counter, just simply watching. His gaze follows every movement—spreading, layering, and pressing everything together before slipping them into the sandwich press.
“Once I’m finished with the laundry door and shelf, I can give you a hand with the painting—if you’d like,” he offers.
“Oh, no, I’ll be fine. Painting the walls is the easy part, and besides, you’ve already done so much.”
“Well, how about you let me take care of the lighting fixtures. I know you’ve watched a ton of YouTube tutorials, but I think it’s safer if I handle them myself.”
“Okay, fine. But we’re tackling them next weekend. Zac will be with his dad, so we could probably knock it out in a day.”
I dropped him off at my parents’ this morning, as the house was set to become a construction zone for the day and I didn’t want him moving around with nails and sharp tools lying about. He was more than happy to spend the day at the reptile park, so it worked out perfectly for everyone.
“Sounds good. And after we finish the inside, it’s just the gardens left, right?” he asks.
The green light on the sandwich press clicks on, signalling that the sandwiches are ready.
I lift the lid, transfer them onto small plates, and cut them into neat triangles.
Grabbing two cans of cola from the fridge, I slide one across to Kaden, along with his toasted sandwich, which he tucks into almost immediately.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a generous bite of his toastie.
“You’re welcome. And to answer your question, the décor is next on the list. I still need a few pieces of furniture, such as a new couch and a bedroom set, then I can get to the fun part—adding plants, rugs, and all the little touches that will really bring this place to life.
I’m rather picky when it comes to furniture, which is why it’s taking me so long to find the right pieces.
I tend to prefer antiques or older wooden furniture that are solid and sturdier, over the more modern flat-packs. ”
“I agree. Flat-packs are the number one enemy. Most of the time, they don’t last very long. It’s far better to pick up an antique from a thrift store and refurbish it. So many people do that these days, and more often than not, the pieces turn out beautifully and can last for decades.”
“That’s exactly what I plan to do. But again, I’m so pressed for time these days that it’ll probably be another couple of months before I can complete a project like that.”
He pauses mid-bite, setting the sandwich carefully back on his plate.
His eyes drift to mine, distant and thoughtful, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as if his mind is quietly turning over an idea.
Slowly, a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth; he hums something softly to himself, before picking up the sandwich again and finishing the rest of it in two bites.
“Eventually, I’d like to build a greenhouse out the back,” I add, taking a small sip of my cola. “I’ve always wanted one, but Adrian was completely against it. He wanted the space for entertaining instead, and honestly… I think he was just tired of seeing nothing but plants in the yard.”
The greenhouse had been a constant point of contention between Adrian and me.
We rarely hosted guests, so his vision of an entertaining space never made sense.
There was more than enough room for both, yet it was the one thing Adrian refused to compromise on.
The moment Zac and I moved back in after I left Adrian, I knew exactly what I wanted for the backyard—a greenhouse.
And this time, nothing was going to stand in my way.
“From what I saw when I delivered the bench, your backyard is more than spacious enough for both. You could easily fit a greenhouse and an entertainment area, you’d just need to play around with the layout a bit,” Kaden confirms what I knew all along.
“That’s exactly what I told him, but he still wouldn’t budge. None of that matters now, though, he’s not living here anymore, and I call all the shots. One way or another, I’m getting my greenhouse.”
“You’re the boss,” he teases, giving me a playful wink.
I snort into my drink, and he laughs as a bit of my drink gets stuck up my nose, forcing me to cough it out.
“Not funny, you prick.”
That only makes him laugh even louder. I scoop up the leftover crust from my plate and toss it at him, and he actually opens his mouth and catches it. When he winks at me again, I have to look away, hoping he doesn’t see the flush creeping up my neck.
Surprisingly, we’ve slipped back into friendship with ease, texting and calling each other throughout the week as if nothing ever happened between us. Don’t get me wrong—I’m still cautious, making sure everything stays completely platonic, and he’s been careful to respect that.
Yet every so often, he does something that makes me pause, something that makes me blush or heat up inside, and I have to control myself so I don’t succumb to his charm. And Kaden can be quite the charming man when he wants to be.
I gather our empty plates and set them in the sink, desperate for something—anything, to focus on besides his mouth, his eyes… his whole damn self.
“So, should we get started on the laundry?” I ask.
“Let’s do it,” he says, standing and tightening his tool belt around his waist again. “Are you actually going to start painting, or just pretend to supervise me again?” His smirk is teasing, and he makes no effort to hide that he knows I’ve been completely checking him out this entire time.
Goddammit!
I narrow my eyes at him, and he chuckles.
Rounding the island, he stops in front of me and hands me his hammer. I glance up, frowning.
“If you’re going to join me, might as well put you to work.”
“What would you like me to do?” I ask.
“You get the fun job of demoing the shelf.”
“Oh, that I can do.”
“Good. Now, chop-chop apricot—we’re losing daylight.”
And with that, he brushes past me, striding towards the laundry room like he owns the place—leaving me behind, smiling and shaking my head.