5. Timothy
Chapter five
Timothy
“Who exactly are we expecting?” Jonah asks from behind me. “The Queen?”
I tighten the final screw and keep my face carefully neutral.
The cabinet hinge is fixed. The dishwasher is running. The boot room no longer looks like a sporting-goods store exploded inside it.
None of those things is suspicious on its own.
Together, apparently, they are practically a confession.
“I live here,” I say. “I’m allowed to improve my own living conditions.”
Jonah looks at the screwdriver in my hand. Then at the cabinet. Then at me.
He grins. “You want Bethany to be impressed.”
“I want Bethany to not file a report with the health department.”
The problem is, Jonah is right.
I know exactly how this looks. Responsible Timothy. Useful Timothy. Timothy who keeps things steady, keeps things simple. He's easy to have around.
My last girlfriend used to say she loved that about me. How dependable I was. How I always showed up. How I never made things harder than they needed to be.
I used to think that counted for something.
Then she showed up with someone else.
He was louder and funnier than me. Nobody would have described him as dependable unless they were talking about his ability to get a table at a packed restaurant.
She cried when she told me she had been seeing him behind my back. She wasn't sorry about her decision, but she was sorry for me. Like I was a very nice coat she had outgrown.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.
As if that was supposed to help.
Because if I can do everything right and still not be enough, where exactly does that leave me?
Almost chosen. Almost loved. Almost the guy.
The backup plan.
The metal handle of the screwdriver presses into my palm.
I loosen my grip and force the memory back into the locked box where it belongs.
Across the room, Shane glances through the window toward the old outdoor rink. “Do you think we could use that rink for practice?”
Maxon follows his gaze. “Calling that a rink is generous,” Maxon says.
Jonah points at me. “Careful. Brenton hears ‘practice’ and starts getting on his gear.”
“Funny,” I say.
Truthfully, I’m already thinking about it.
A working rink would help. For the house. For the team.
For me.
Which is exactly the kind of thought that gets a person in trouble.
Then tires crunch over gravel outside.
Every head in the room turns to the truck rolling up the driveway.
Jonah’s grin sharpens. “Bethany's here.”
My hand finds the cabinet handle before my brain can stop it. I test it once. The hinge is solid.
Bethany knocks twice before opening the door. Cold air slips in around her, and then she’s there with a grocery bag hooked over one arm, cheeks pink from the wind, ponytail slightly crooked.
When she gets to the kitchen, she sets the grocery bag on the counter. She scans the room and crosses straight to the cabinet. She tests it once.
Her eyebrows lift.
I am still holding the screwdriver.
“It was loose,” I say.
“I know that.”
“It wasn’t a whole production.”
Jonah coughs into his fist, badly disguising a laugh.
Bethany looks from him to me, then back to the cabinet. “Should I be worried that you’re fixing things now?”
“Terrified,” I say.
She laughs, and I smile.
For one second, it’s just us.
I should stop smiling.
More importantly, Bethany has a job to do here. A business she is building from the ground up. A life she is trying to make bigger with both hands.
And I am not part of that life.
Jonah says, “Brenton’s available for all your appliance-adjacent needs.”
Bethany’s mouth twitches. “Good to know.”
“Ignore him,” I say.
Over by the window, Shane taps the glass with two knuckles. “Since we’re apparently fixing things, someone should tell Grant we want to practice on the old rink.”
Bethany follows his gaze outside.
Outside, the rink sits half buried beneath the snow. The crooked boards rise in uneven sections, and one of the light poles leans far enough to look concerning.
“I knew it was there, but I haven't been out to look at it. How bad is it?” she asks.
The room answers all at once.
“Boards are warped.”
“Lights are dead.”
“Gate sticks.”
“Ice is rough.”
Bethany holds up one hand, and all the hockey players stop talking.
That should not be as attractive as it is.
She turns back to the window, studying the rink. I can practically see the list forming in her head. “Has anyone actually had it inspected?”
“No,” Shane says.
Bethany closes her eyes for half a second.
“Of course not.”
She does not sound angry.
Only like a woman who has once again discovered that five grown men require supervision.
Jonah points at me. “But if you bat your lashes at Timothy, he'll probably suit up right now.”
“Shut it.”
Bethany glances between us.
Jonah’s grin says he has no intention of shutting anything.
Her gaze drops to the screwdriver still clutched in my hand.
I set it on the counter.
Her smile turns small and private.
For one terrifying second, I am sure she sees straight through every excuse I have made this morning.
And she sees it.
Not my thinly veiled crush on her. Something worse.
The almost guy. The backup plan.
“Well.” She reaches for the grocery bag. “I should probably tell Grant the rink needs a proper inspection before one of you decides to skate on it and breaks something important.”
“Define important,” Jonah says.
“Anything your insurance company would make me document.”
She carries the bag toward the pantry, already shifting into work mode.
I stand there and watch her go.
Jonah leans closer. “Still just a hinge?”
I look at the cabinet. Then at the window. Then at the doorway where Bethany disappeared.
“Shut up,” I say.