Chapter 2 - Luna #2
I want to argue, to insist that I can't accept such a massive gesture from someone I barely know.
But the truth is, I need help. Desperately.
And something about the way King looks at me, not like I'm a charity case, but like I'm someone worth investing in, makes it feel less like accepting handouts and more like building something together.
"Why?" I ask, echoing the question I asked him last night. "You don't know me. For all you know, I'm a terrible person who kicks puppies and cheats on her taxes."
His laugh is low and rough, like whiskey poured over gravel. "Somehow I doubt that. Besides, I'm a pretty good judge of character. Comes with the territory."
"What territory is that?"
The laughter fades from his face, replaced by something harder and more guarded. "Running things around here. Making decisions about who to trust and who to watch. It's kept me alive this long."
There's a story there, layers of meaning I don't understand yet. But I can sense the weight of it, the responsibility he carries like armor that never comes off.
"And you trust me?"
"I trust that you're exactly who you appear to be," he says, "Which is more than I can say for most people."
We're standing closer now, close enough that I can smell his cologne: wood and menthol. Close enough to see the tiny scar that cuts through his left eyebrow and the way his eyes squint when he looks at me.
This is dangerous territory. Getting involved with a man like King, because that's clearly what's happening here, this magnetic pull that makes me want to step even closer, is the kind of mistake that changes everything.
I came to Blackwater Falls to start over, to build a quiet life where I could help people and find some peace.
But when King looks at me like I'm something precious that needs protecting, quiet seems overrated.
"So, what's the first step?" I ask, taking a step back before I do something stupid like touch him. "With the house, I mean."
If he notices my retreat, he doesn't comment on it. "Survey the damage completely. Figure out what's structural and what's just cosmetic. Get the utilities turned back on so we can see what we're really dealing with."
"We."
"We," he confirms. "Unless you've changed your mind about wanting help."
"I haven't changed my mind," I tell him. "But I should probably warn you, I don't really know what I'm doing."
"Neither does anyone else," King says. "We're all just making it up as we go along and hoping it works out."
Somehow, coming from him, that's actually comforting.
We spend the next hour going through the house room by room, with King pointing out structural issues and me taking notes on my phone.
He knows an unsettling amount about Victorian architecture and construction techniques, and when I ask how he learned so much, he just shrugs and says he's had to fix a lot of things over the years.
The basement is even worse than I feared—standing water, obvious foundation cracks, and what looks like a family of raccoons that's made the water heater their permanent residence. But King examines everything with the thoroughness of someone who's used to assessing and solving complex problems.
"It's not impossible," he says finally, shining his phone's flashlight into a corner where something has clearly been nesting. "But it's going to take time."
Time. The one thing I'm not sure I have enough of. My savings won't last forever, and I need to find work soon. Being a nurse should mean I can find employment anywhere, but Blackwater Falls doesn't exactly seem like a thriving medical community.
"There's a clinic in town," King says, like he's reading my mind. "Dr. Nick runs it. Good man, could probably use the help. Town's been without a second nurse since Emma died."
"You think he'd hire me?"
"I think he'd hire anyone with proper credentials and a willingness to work in a place like this." King's smile is wry. "Not exactly a competitive job market."
We emerge from the basement covered in dust and cobwebs, and I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror. My hair is escaping from its ponytail, there's a smudge of dirt on my cheek, and my clothes look like I've been wrestling with the house and losing.
King, meanwhile, looks exactly the same as when he arrived. Perfectly put-together in that dangerous, effortless way that some men manage without even trying.
"I should probably go," I say, suddenly self-conscious about my appearance. "Let you get back to whatever you were doing before you decided to rescue damsels in distress."
"I wasn't doing anything important." He follows me toward the front door, boots echoing on the warped floors. "And for the record, you're not a damsel in distress. You're a woman who needs some help with a construction project."
"Is that your professional opinion?"
"That's my personal observation." We've reached the door, and King pauses with his hand on the frame. "Damsels wait for someone else to solve their problems. You stood up to three grown men rather than give up what mattered to you."
"They could have hurt me," I say.
"But they didn't. Because you didn't let them." His eyes hold mine steadily. "That's not luck, Luna. That's strength."
No one's ever called me strong before. Stubborn, yes. Difficult, absolutely. But strong? That's a new one.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it for so many things I can't name. For last night, for this morning, for looking at my disaster of an inheritance and seeing possibilities instead of problems.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he says. "With some of my guys. We'll start with the roof. No point in fixing anything else if rain's still getting in."
He's already halfway down the porch steps when I call after him. "King?"
He turns, one eyebrow raised in question.
"What's your real name?"