Chapter 7 Em
EM
Ivy’s text came through first with a heart and a call if you need backup.
I put my phone on silent and shoved it in my back pocket.
I didn’t trust my voice yet. My hands still shook a little, and I needed them steady.
While part of my brain couldn’t believe Ivy freaking Emerson had my number and texted me, the other part was preparing a full dissertation to argue with Noah.
“Noah, I’m not moving in,” I said again as we walked up the stairs to my building. The elevator was locked off for mitigation. Fans hummed behind plastic down the hall. They sounded like a hair dryer set to high and trapped in a closet. The place was so damp and humid too. Quite disgusting.
“You’re not moving in,” he repeated, flat. “You’re staying here. Different verbs.”
“That’s the same thing.” How was he being so nonchalant about this? I was extra chalant. All the chalants.
“It’s not.”
Miles squeezed between us, careful of the yellow caution tape, and held Sassy’s leash tight like I asked him too. “I’m the helper,” he said, as if anyone had forgotten.
“That’s right, kiddo.” I smiled at him. Despite my nerves and general freaking out about my place, my stuff, my future, I liked being around Miles. He’d lost his mom and still smiled. That took so much strength. Damn kid impressed me.
A ServPro tech met us at my door, checked my ID, and unzipped the plastic.
The unit smelled like wet drywall and old pennies.
The kitchen floor was gone under a sheet of water.
Two dehumidifiers ran in the corner, hoses disappearing out the window.
Sections of the lower wall were already cut away.
The tech handed me boot covers and a clipboard.
“Keep it above waist level,” he said. “Outlet areas are off limits. We’ll handle appliances. If something is damp but important, set it outside the containment and we’ll stack fans on it. Take photos of everything for your claim.”
I nodded and stepped in. The damage was worse in daylight.
Fabric rolls slumped like soaked rope along the wall.
My machine table had held. The base wobbled when I touched it, but the motor looked dry.
I lifted it carefully and set it on the counter the tech pointed to.
Noah hovered close but didn’t grab. He let me do it. That helped more than I expected.
If my parents or Theo were here, they’d demand I wait outside, that they would take care of it.
When I went through a bad breakup with Jace, they suddenly saw me as a kid again and not self-sufficient.
Then I’d get a lecture about living alone, being in the city.
It wasn’t my fault the pipe burst during a storm.
“Are you sure you and Miles can be here?”
Noah’s jaw tightened as he narrowed his eyes at me. I knew that look. I’d touched a nerve, so I backtracked. I neared him, squeezed his forearm, and met his gaze. “I’m glad you’re with me.”
He stared at my fingers on his bare arm, his forearm so thick my hand could barely fit around it. Half his lip quirked up as he nodded, pleased at what I’d said. The moment passed, then we got to work.
I took the clipboard and started a list. Pattern weights, twelve.
Thread cones, assorted. Notions case, top shelf.
The routine steadied me. Miles stood with Sassy just outside the plastic and handed us labeled bags when we called for them.
Noah worked silent and quick, hauling, stacking, keeping anything wet off the new piles.
Seeing the wreckage gutted me. This was all my stuff.
Years’ worth of it. My throat prickled and tears welled.
“You’re staying with us,” he said after a while, not looking up from the bin he was filling. “It’s the best plan, and you know it.”
My stomach sank. I could wait to see what temporary housing the place gave us, but did I want to stay in a hotel?
God, I really didn’t. A hotel wouldn’t be great for Sassy.
But it wasn’t like I could go home. The drive in and out of the city would be brutal, and my job on Michigan Avenue would be closer living with Noah.
“No, don’t think, just accept. I can feel your brain whirring for excuses, but think of it this way. You’d be helping us out.”
“How is that possible?” I asked, taking more photos of my bedroom area.
“Miles. Sassy. They get along. My sister promised him a dog before… well, you know. This can be a trial run.”
He played the right cards, my goodness. “Okay, what about this nanny thing too?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re looking for a nanny, right?” I set the clipboard down and placed my hands on my hips.
This was better. I could offer help, something he actually needed.
Hope burst in my chest, that he wouldn’t be doing this out of pity.
“Let me be the nanny and help with Miles until you find someone and my unit is good again.”
It could work. I could do my other stuff while he was at school.
Noah’s gaze sharpened like I’d spoken another language.
For a second, I thought he’d argue, but he just stared.
I grinned, rocking on my heels, already knowing I had him.
I loved getting the best of him. Some of my favorite memories from college were moments like this—finding the holes in his logic and watching his jaw tighten.
“This is a great idea,” I said. “You know it! I can stay with him when you have your away game next week. You can trust me. I basically raised my siblings. I’m an expert in chaos.”
“Shit.” He dragged a hand down his jaw and exhaled slowly, the muscle twitching at the corner. A dozen arguments ran across his face, and then that stubborn smirk appeared. “This might actually work.”
“It will work,” I said, trying to ignore the twist in my stomach. “Plus, it’s the only way I’ll stay with you. I can’t just do that for free.”
“Em, of course you can.” His frown returned, softer now. “Let’s finish up here, then we can hash it out properly.”
“I mean, it’s settled already, buddy.” I winked at him. For the first time since the flood, I felt lighter. Almost normal. Then I stared at my bedroom. Or what was left of my bedroom.
“Uncle Noah, can I have a snack? I’m hungry.”
“Sure bud.” Noah pulled out crackers and led Miles to a chair in direct view of my bedroom.
Reality hit a breath later. My place was gone—most of my fabrics, pattern weights, my binder of sketches.
I had the three bags Noah had grabbed and my hard drive, but that was it.
I swallowed hard, eyes roaming over the stripped apartment as my gut twisted.
The window nook was where I’d planned collections, imagined a brand with my name on it.
I crouched to open one of the duffels, half checking, half taking stock.
“I’ll need to reorder muslin and interfacing.
My rotary blades are rusted from the water, so I’ll need new ones.
And my tech pack binder’s toast, so I’ll reprint all the Rampage files.
I have the digital copies on my drive, thank God.
” I was mostly talking to myself now, running through the checklist in my head.
“And the samples for next week’s fitting—shit.
I’ll have to find a workspace. The team uses the practice facility’s meeting room sometimes, right? ”
Noah stayed quiet behind me, the sound of his boots shifting closer.
“Whatever you need, I can get for you,” he said, voice low.
His words landed close. Too close. The warmth in them pushed against the exhaustion I was barely holding together.
I wanted to lean back and let him take over for once.
But I couldn’t. Not with him. Not again.
He saw me messy and stressed too many times, and I was still raw at the fact he’d never called back in June.
I knew his sister passed away and he had Miles, but he could’ve texted me.
Told me. I’d learned about it from the news.
The only explanation was I was too much of a mess to take on.
“I appreciate it,” I said carefully, zipping the duffel.
“But I’ll be okay. I have enough saved to replace materials, and I can pick up a couple of freelance tech sketches to make up the difference.
” I stood and brushed my hands on my thighs.
“The licensing department approved an extended capsule if the first drop performs well, so I can build my portfolio out of this project too. I’m good. ”
He studied me, still too close. “Good?”
“As good as someone whose entire studio turned into a swimming pool can be.” My tone came out sharper than I meant.
I sighed, softening it. “Look, I’m fine.
This is just logistics now. Fabric orders, sourcing, and maybe a trip to the store.
Not the end of the world.” I had to believe that or I’d break down.
“You lost your workspace,” he said. “That’s not nothing, Em.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll make one.” I forced a small smile. “You’ve got that guest room desk, right? I can turn it into a temporary cutting table. And I still have my tech pack software and tablet. As long as I can draw and measure, I can work.”
He looked unconvinced. “You don’t have to fix everything tonight.”
“I do,” I said before I could stop myself. The words came out quieter than I expected. “Because if I don’t start, I’ll start thinking about everything that’s gone. And then I’ll fall apart, and I don’t have time for that.”
Something in his expression changed—softer, but heavier somehow. He didn’t argue again.
“Fine,” he said, voice rough. “We’ll make sure you have a workspace tomorrow. You handle your designs; I’ll handle everything else.”
I shook my head. “Noah, you don’t have to—”
He cut me off. “I’m doing it, Em. End of story.”