Chapter 20
LAINE
"Ican't believe we got that much done," Reid says, reaching for another spring roll. He's already had four — I've been counting — and shows no signs of slowing down. "Blake, your estimate of 'all day' was way off."
Thank god that didn't take all day. My arms are sore in that way that reminds me I haven't done manual labor in an embarrassingly long time. Maybe I can convince Reid to give me a massage later. That's a normal thing to ask, right? Totally normal.
Reid's chair is pulled close to mine, his knee pressed against my thigh under the table. Every few minutes his hand finds me. A squeeze on my shoulder. A brush along my arm. His palm settling on my back for just a second before it's gone again.
And every single time, I lean into it like some kind of touch-starved stray. Cool. Very dignified, Laine.
"That's because I didn't account for Laine actually knowing what she's doing," Blake says.
He shoots me a grin. Quick. Almost reluctant, like it escaped before he could stop it.
I grip the edge of my chair because apparently my body has decided that's the appropriate response to him giving me an unsolicited compliment.
I'd hoped we made some progress today. But this? This is better than progress. This is Blake admitting — out loud, with witnesses — that I'm not a complete liability. Someone should be writing this down. Carving it into stone. Something.
Reid's hand lands on my knee under the table. Squeezes once. Did you see that? the touch says. Progress.
"Hey," I say, acting butthurt. "I told you I grew up on construction sites."
"You also told us you knew your way around a pipe wrench," Reid adds, pointing a spring roll at me accusingly. "You didn't mention you could re-tile a wall faster than both of us combined. I felt personally attacked by your competence. Blake had to comfort me."
"I did not comfort you," Blake says flatly.
"You handed me a beer. That's comfort."
"That was to shut you up."
"Emotional support beer. Same thing."
Blake nods, ignoring Reid entirely. "Seriously. Where'd you learn to cut tile like that?"
I like the way they're both looking at me right now. "My dad. He used to say if you're going to do something, learn to do it right the first time. We built a lot of bathrooms over the years."
"Your parents sound like impressive people," Blake says quietly. He's stopped eating, his chopsticks resting on the edge of his container. Actually looking at me, not through me.
Reid's thumb traces a small circle on my knee.
"They are. Stubborn as hell, but impressive." I pause, then — "Actually, Dad just gave us a pretty good scare. He collapsed at a job site in Cambodia a few weeks ago."
Blake's expression shifts. Something sharpens behind his eyes. "He okay?"
"Yeah. Tests came back — exhaustion, dehydration, minor cardiac irregularity. Manageable with medication." I shrug, going for casual, but my voice does that thing where it gets a little too careful. "Doctors told him to slow down."
"I'm guessing he's not slowing down," Blake says.
A laugh pushes out of me. "Mom sent me a photo two days ago. He's back on the construction site. Wearing a hat now, though. So. Progress." Reid squeezes my knee again, and I lean into him.
Blake's watching us. Then he looks at me. "Glad he's okay."
Three words. But from Blake, that's a whole speech.
"You'd probably like them, actually," I say. "They appreciate good craftsmanship."
"Maybe we'll meet them someday," Reid says, then catches himself. His hand tightens briefly on my knee. "I mean, if they ever visit Oregon..."
The casual mention of a future where my parents meet Reid — meet both of them — and suddenly I want that. Desperately. I want them to see what I've built here. How good it is.
I glance at Blake to see his reaction, but his face gives nothing away. "They'd love you both," I say. "Dad would probably try to recruit you for his next church build."
Blake snorts. "I don't think missionary work is in my skill set."
"I don't know," Reid grins, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms over his head. "You've got the self-sacrifice thing down. Remember when you spent three straight days hand-sanding that mantelpiece?"
"That was different. That was for the client in Seattle who paid me obscene money to—"
"Three days," Reid repeats to me, completely ignoring Blake's protest. He's fully animated now, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Barely ate, slept in the workshop. I had to physically drag food to him like he was a feral cat I was trying to domesticate."
"I'm not a feral cat."
"You hissed at me when I woke you up."
"I did not hiss."
"You made a sound. It was hiss-adjacent." Reid turns to me, delighted. "He's like a grumpy raccoon when he's in the zone. All hunched over his work, growling at anyone who interrupts."
"I don't growl," Blake says in something very close to a growl. I have to hide my laugh behind a little cough. Reid catches it though, and judging by that devilish grin, it just encourages him to keep going.
"You definitely growl."
Blake looks at me, almost pleading. "I don't growl."
I hold up my hands. "I'm staying out of this one."
I watch them volley back and forth, Reid's whole body animated while Blake tries to maintain his stoic facade and fails.
Reid keeps reaching over to poke Blake's arm, steal food from his container, invade his space in ways that would annoy anyone else but seem to just make Blake's mouth twitch toward a smile.
When did I stop feeling like an audience to this? Because somewhere between the tiling and the spring rolls, I stopped watching their friendship and just... ended up in it.
Reid catches me watching and winks. His hand finds mine under the table, fingers interlacing.
"What about you, Laine?" Blake asks, and there's genuine curiosity in his voice. He's leaning forward slightly, forearms on the table, actually engaged in a way he hasn't been before. "Ever think about doing construction full-time instead of nursing?"
Reid's eyebrows shoot up. Blake voluntarily extending a conversation. His thumb strokes across my knuckles once, twice.
Who would have thought he was funny? I really like this side of him. "No, never. I like fixing people more than fixing buildings."
"Same result, though," Reid points out. "Making something broken whole again."
"I suppose." I consider it. "But people are more complicated. More rewarding when you get it right."
"And more devastating when you can't help them," Blake adds quietly.
Something passes between them. Reid and Blake, trading a look I can't read. Loaded. Heavy with whatever they carry that I don't.
Reid's hand tightens on mine. Not deliberate — more like a reflex. Like his body forgot to ask permission.
Blake's jaw locks up for half a second. Then he smooths it out, quick, like he's had practice.
Military stuff, probably. Things they've seen. Things I haven't. Jared, maybe. The brother they both lost and neither one talks about.
I want to ask. But what right do I have to pry open that door? People get to share that stuff when they're ready. Not when I'm curious.
"Yeah," Reid says softly. "That's the hardest part."
Blake clears his throat, and I can almost see him shaking it off, redirecting.
"So Laine," he says, "Reid tells me you volunteer at the Pine Street camp."
"Once a week." I nod, grateful for the subject change. "It's good work. I feel like we're really making a difference there."
"You're a very giving person."
My cheeks go hot. "Anyone would do it."
"No," Blake says, that growl back. "They wouldn't. Too many people would look away. But you don't seem like the kind of person that could ever look away when you see bad shit happening."
I open my mouth. Close it. I have absolutely no idea what to do with a compliment from Blake Moore.
"I think most people would want to help, wouldn't they?"
Blake and Reid exchange another look.
"We've seen people's reactions to homeless populations," Reid explains carefully. "Most folks cross the street to avoid them."
"Military towns especially," Blake adds. "Lot of vets end up on the streets, and people don't want to acknowledge that."
"That's terrible."
"It is," Reid agrees. "But it makes what you do more important."
"I like helping," I say simply. "Always have. My parents raised me to see need and respond to it."
"Is that why you became a nurse?" Blake asks.
"Partly. Also, because it was portable." I pause, realizing something. "Though I guess that's not as important anymore."
"Because you're staying put now," Reid says, squeezing my hand.
I give him a little squeeze back. "Because I'm staying put now."
Blake stares at our joined hands for a moment, expression unreadable. Then with a grunt gets up and clears plates.
"I'll do dishes," I offer, standing.
"Guests don't do dishes," Blake protests.
"I'm not a guest," I say without thinking. "I'm here half the time anyway."
The words hang in the air. My face heats. Okay, so maybe don't just blurt things out, Mitchell.
But Reid's whole face lights up like I just gave him a gift. "See?" He turns to Blake, practically bouncing in his seat. "I told you she belongs here."
He pulls me closer and presses a kiss to my cheek, quick and delighted. "Not a guest. You heard her, Blake. Official ruling."
I brace for it. The polite smile that stops at his mouth. The jaw clench that says I've crossed a line.
But Blake's watching us with this look I can't decode. Something moves across his face — gone before I can grab it — and then he smiles. Actually smiles. Small. Real. The kind that makes his eyes do something irritating and warm.
Blake's full smile is…devastating. If I didn't love Reid so much, that smile would draw me to him like nothing else.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "She does."
His eyes meet mine for just a second, warm, but guarded.