Learning As I Go
Fuse
Scrubbing the paint off only got the surface. Underneath, the brick's stained dark red where it soaked in overnight, and no amount of elbow grease is lifting it now.
So Saturday morning, I show up with a patch kit and zero idea what I'm doing.
Twenty minutes in, I've made it worse. Mortar smeared crooked across the brick, more on my hands than the wall, the patch job rough enough a kid could've done it blindfolded.
Rose sits on an overturned bucket nearby, supervising.
"That looks bad."
"It's a process."
"It looks like doggy doo doo."
I call Ash before she can insult me a third time.
He shows up in twenty minutes, takes one look at my handiwork, and doesn't bother hiding the grin.
"What happened here."
"Don't."
"No, seriously, what happened. Did the wall fight back?"
"Just fix it."
He pulls his own kit out of his truck, the real kind, the kind a man who actually does this for a living carries. Mixes the mortar different than I did. Smooths it in one clean pass. Within ten minutes the brick looks like nothing ever touched it.
Rose watches the whole thing, dead serious, arms crossed exactly the way her mother crosses hers.
"Ash is way better at this than you. I like you, Ash."
"Thanks, kid."
"You're welcome." She turns to Ash. "You're really good."
"Used to do cement work with my grandpa sometimes." Ash doesn't glance over, focused on the line of the patch. "Some skills you don't lose."
"Can you teach Fuse?"
"Working on it."
I let them have that one because a five-year-old's rarely wrong.
Nora comes out around eleven with a tray of coffee and a paper bag already going soft with butter at the bottom corner.
"Figured you'd both be starving."
"Tie that shi… I mean, tie that down," Ash says, not looking up from the brick.
Rose just giggles.
"Working on it," I say back, and Nora's eyes catch mine over the tray, startled, like she overheard a promise meant for someone else.
I let her see I meant it.
She doesn't say anything. Hands out the coffee, sets the muffins on the upturned bucket beside Rose, and goes back inside before either of us can push the moment further than it's ready to go.
Ash finishes the patch an hour later. Steps back, checks the line against the rest of the wall, and nods once. "That'll hold."
"Appreciate it."
"You owe me a six-pack."
"I owe you a case."
He claps me on the shoulder once and heads out, leaving me alone with Rose and a wall that finally looks like nothing happened here at all.
Rose climbs down off her bucket, walks the length of the patch with her hands on her hips as she inspects it. "Good as new."
"Good as new," I agree.
She yawns, the kind that takes over her whole face, and climbs onto the wicker couch in the patio seating area without being asked. Within minutes she's curled against my side, breath slowing, one fist still holding a corner of my shirt.
I sit there. Don't move. Barely breathe, in case shifting wakes her.
This isn't about Nora anymore. Hasn't been for a while now, if I'm honest with myself.
Somewhere over the last few months, between expensive coffee I never wanted and mornings I never expected, I fell for the kid too.
Completely, separately, the kind of love that doesn't need anyone's permission to exist.
That scares me worse than any threat the Vipers could put my way.
Every fight I've ever walked into, I knew the shape of the danger. Knew where to put my weight, where the other man's weakness lived, how to read a room before the first swing landed. Twenty years of learning how to dismantle problems one piece at a time.
Nothing in that education tells me what to do with a kid who decided I was safe before I'd earned it. There's no stance for this. No read to make. Just a small fist holding on and a trust I don't know the first thing about deserving.
So I don't move. Not for anything.
Through the shop window, I catch Nora watching us from behind the counter, rag forgotten in her hand, wiping nothing. She doesn't come out. Just stands there a long moment, a soft expression moving across her face before she catches herself and goes back to work.
I don't think she knows I saw it.
Figure I'll learn as I go. All of it. Whatever it takes.