The Boundary Lines
The smell of cedar was thick in the garage, clinging to the humidity of the late afternoon. I had the shop light angled over the workbench, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows as I ran a fine-grit sandpaper over the side rail of the crib.
It was slow work. It had to be. I wasn't just building furniture; I was building a sanctuary. Every joint had to be flush, every edge rounded off until it felt like silk. I didn't want a single splinter or a loose bolt in the place where my daughter was going to sleep.
The sound of a heavy door thudding shut next door caught my attention. I looked out the garage side-window and saw Anthony hauling a final box of kitchen gear into the small, one-bedroom cottage that sat on the edge of my property.
It was a clean little place—white siding, a small porch, and just enough room for a guy who spent half his life at the fire station anyway. Anthony had been adamant about moving out of the main house the second we found out the gender.
"You two need the space," he'd said, blunt as always while he packed his duffel bag.
"And I don't need to be hearing a baby crying at three a.m. when I've got a double shift at the department.
I'll be close enough to hear a floorboard creak, but far enough to let you guys be a family. "
I appreciated it more than I could tell him. Having him next door was the best of both worlds—maximum security, but a hell of a lot more privacy for Aubrey and me.
Anthony walked across the grass, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He stepped into the garage, his boots crunching on the wood shavings.
"Still at it, Harrison?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Almost done with the sanding," I said, not slowing my rhythm. "I want to get the first coat of non-toxic stain on it tonight so it can cure while we're at the station tomorrow."
Anthony walked over, running a critical finger over the headboard. He nodded slowly. "Good work. Solid. Not like that cheap plywood crap Brandon probably would've bought from some designer boutique in the city."
I stiffened at the name, but kept my eyes on the wood. "He wouldn't have built anything. He would've paid someone else to do it and then complained about the delivery fee."
Anthony let out a dry snort. "Too true." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, heavy object, setting it on the workbench. It was a brass fire department medallion, polished until it shone. "For the headboard. A little protection from the department."
I picked it up, feeling the weight of it. It was a tradition in our station—something we did for the kids of the guys on the line. "Thanks, Ant. She'll like that."
"She better," he muttered, though there was a softness in his eyes he rarely let anyone see. "Listen, I talked to Miller. He says Sterling's SUV hasn't been seen at the motel since this morning. Looks like he finally took the hint and headed back to the city. For now."
"For now," I repeated, my grip tightening on the sandpaper. "But he's still got those lawyers. That paternity suit isn't going away just because he crossed the county line."
"We'll handle the lawyers when they come," Anthony said, his voice dropping into that steady, professional tone he used during a structure fire.
"But right now? You've got a house to yourself.
A sister who's finally sleeping through the night.
And a niece who needs a place to lay her head.
Focus on the crib, Nick. I've got the perimeter. "
He clapped me on the shoulder and headed back toward his new place. I watched him go, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and responsibility. He was giving us the house—giving us a chance to feel like a real couple—but he was still standing guard.
I went back to work, the rhythmic shhh-shhh of the sandpaper filling the quiet garage.
About an hour later, the side door to the kitchen opened. Aubrey stepped out, wearing one of my old flannels over her leggings. She looked peaceful, her hair tied back in a messy bun, her hand resting on the swell of her stomach.
"Is it done?" she asked, walking over to stand beside me.
"Getting there," I said, pulling her into my side. I kissed the top of her head, my heart doing that strange, fluttering roll it always did when she was near. "Anthony's all moved in next door. He left you a peace offering on the workbench."
She looked at the brass medallion and smiled, her eyes tearing up. "He's so dramatic. He acts like he's moving a mile away when he's literally fifty feet from our kitchen."
"He wants us to have our own life, Aubrey," I said, turning her to face me. "He wants you to feel like this is your home. Not just a safe house."
Aubrey reached out, her fingers tracing the smooth grain of the wood I'd spent hours perfecting. "It already feels like home, Nick. More than the apartment ever did. More than anywhere else."
She looked up at me, her brown eyes clear and full of a trust that I knew I had to earn every single day. "I love the crib. It's perfect."
"Only the best for a Harrison girl," I murmured, leaning down to capture her lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like the life we were building.
The city felt like a dream—a bad one that was fading with every sunset. Brandon might have the blood and the money, but I had the wood, the nails, and the woman. And tonight the only thing that mattered was the house we were finally making our own.
?? IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE ??
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