Chapter Fifty-Eight
Xavier
The thunder's gone when I wake. That's the first thing I notice. The stillness. No rolling echo through the walls. No flash of light behind my eyes. Just the low hum of the house settling around us.
Us. My eyes close again. Bad idea. The memory comes back anyway. The kitchen. The storm. Her hands on me. The way neither of us stopped. Then the bedroom. Hours disappearing somewhere between talking and touching and falling asleep.
I scrub a hand over my face. That shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have happened twice. I told her where the line was—made it clear and kept it simple. And then I climbed into her bed.
Worse, I stayed there.
The mattress shifts when I sit up. Ruby doesn't wake.
Morning light slips through the curtains, painting pale stripes across the blanket tangled around her waist. She looks peaceful for the first time in weeks.
My chest pangs. I look away immediately. Dangerous. All of it. The feelings. The wanting. The part of me that doesn't regret a damn thing. The rest of me regrets it because this won’t turn out well. At all.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit there longer than I should. If she wakes up, we'll have to talk. If we talk, I'll say something stupid. Or honest. Neither sounds like a good plan.
Carefully, I push to my feet. The floor creaks. Ruby shifts. Then settles again. Still asleep. Good.
I pull on my boots without sitting. Grab my keys from the dresser and turn to the bed.
Mistake. She's still there. Hair everywhere. Half buried beneath the blanket. Looking more like home than anything has a right to.
I force myself toward the door. Don't leave a note. There's nothing I can write that won't make this messier.
The bedroom door opens. Cold air hits harder than it should when I step into the hallway. The microwave light flashes 6:10.
The drive into town is gray and washed out, branches down, puddles stretching across the road, a few trucks already pulled over where someone’s dealing with damage.
Work. Work fixes things. Keeps them contained. Makes sense.
I park at the shop before the sun’s fully up, the lot mostly empty except for Travis’s truck off to the side. Getting an early start is good. I step inside, flipping the lights on as I go.
The place smells like wet wood and coffee grounds. I grab a mug, pour it black, and take a swallow. It’s hot, burning as it hits my mouth and throat. It should fix everything. It doesn’t help.
Didn’t sleep enough for this. Didn’t think about it enough either. I set the mug down, reach for a stack of paperwork, then stop halfway through the motion.
No. Start with something simple.
I stride toward the back, checking the tool rack out of habit: levels, drills, bits, everything where it should be. No more missing tape measures or wrenches. Good. Control what you can.
The front door opens behind me. Too early for most of the crew. I don’t turn right away. Footsteps, lighter than Travis, slower than the guys who usually come in first. Not who I expected.
“Morning,” Lindsey says.
Perfect. I close the toolbox, straighten, and turn.
She’s leaning inside the doorway as if she belongs there, hair pulled back, jacket half-zipped, that same easy expression like nothing’s changed between us.
“Morning.” Keep it neutral.
She steps further in, letting the door swing shut behind her. “Didn’t think you’d be here this early.”
“More storm damage.” I roll my shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension that’s wedged there. “We’ve got a backlog.”
“Travis mentioned.” She glances around the shop, then back at me. “My supplies in?”
“Yeah.” I pick up the mug again, more for something to do than anything else. “We’ll get to it when we can.”
She nods, slow, like she’s not in a hurry. “You always say that.”
“We always mean it.”
That earns a small smile. She closes the distance without asking, stopping a little too close to be casual. Close enough I smell her perfume under the damp air from outside.
Used not to bother me. Now it does.
“You look tired.”
“Long night.”
“Yeah?” Her brow lifts enough to make it a question without saying it outright. I take another drink of coffee instead of answering.
She watches me, then reaches out, fingers brushing my forearm like it’s automatic. Familiar. Easy. I go still. Not because I want to. Because I don’t.
My arm shifts before I think about it, enough that her hand slides off without me having to make a thing out of it. Her eyes catch the movement. Not offended. Not yet. Just… noticing.
“We’ve all been busy.” Her tone is lighter now, but there’s something under it. “Not just with work, apparently.”
I don’t respond. Don’t take the bait.
She tilts her head, studying me. “Small town,” she adds. “People notice things.”
Of course they do.
“People talk,” she goes on, casual enough to make it sound like nothing. “You and Ruby–”
“Don’t.” It comes out sharper than I intend. Louder than anything else I’ve said since she walked in. The word lands between us, hard and immediate. Her expression stills.
I don’t give her time to fill the silence. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I add, lower now, controlled again but no less final. “So don’t.”
She studies me, not hurt, not exactly—more like recalculating her strategy. “Okay,” she says after a beat, holding her hands up. “Didn’t realize it was that serious.”
It’s not. It shouldn’t be. That’s the problem.
I drag a hand through my hair, turning away before I say anything else that digs the hole deeper. “We’ve got a lot to get through today.” I’m already moving back toward the workbench. “If you need anything, talk to Travis.”
Clear. Professional. Done. I don’t look at her again. Don’t give her anything else to read.
The coffee has gone bitter in my mouth. I swallow anyway, set the mug down harder than I mean to. Her gaze lingers. Too long. I don’t meet it.
Look past her instead, out the front windows, across the lot. Gravel, empty spaces, the edge of the road remains wet from last night.
I shift away, reach for the first set of tools within arm’s reach. “Travis has your bid.” I don’t look at her. “We’ll get to it.”
There’s a pause and then her boots against the floor, slower this time. Not as sure. “Right.”
The door opens. Closes with a snap. I don’t turn around until the sound stops. Then I do. Lot’s still empty except for her car. I grab the drill, check the bit, anything to keep my hands moving.