2. Chapter 2 #2
Minutes later, Heath stepped back into the house with the soft creak of the old front door behind him. The afternoon air outside had carried the weight of the ocean, but in here it was just quiet—soft, lived-in quiet, punctuated by the faint clink of a coffee mug in the kitchen.
He caught the scent of it—freshly brewed. Just dark roast and something real. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. He made his way past the staircase, up toward the second floor, work boots making minimal noise on the old wood.
The hallway was narrow, lined with baseboards that had seen better days. Faded photos were missing from dusty nail marks on the wall. That bathroom—second door on the left—had probably seen decades of toothpaste smears and sibling fights over who got to shower first.
The door stuck slightly before it opened.
Yeah. This was a time capsule.
The fixtures were original, or close to it—dated chrome taps, cracked ceramic tiles around the tub, discolored grout.
The ventilation was shit, which meant moisture had been building up in the corners for years.
Peeling paint on the ceiling. A toilet with a stubborn handle.
Mirror slightly warped from age and steam.
Definitely a kid’s bathroom once—faint traces of old decals still ghosting the cabinet doors.
She hadn’t touched this room.
Not yet.
He crouched down, running a hand along the tub edge.
The sealant had gone brittle and useless, pulling away from the tile in strands like torn plastic.
He unzipped his tool bag and went to work, stripping the old caulk with his utility knife—clean, precise cuts, careful not to damage the tile line.
Once it was cleared, he wiped it all down, dried the area with a small heat gun, and got to work with a new line—steadied pressure on the caulking gun, one smooth bead from corner to edge.
Sealant wasn’t hard, but it had to be perfect. Even spacing, no gaps. He smoothed it with a gloved fingertip, ran a cloth to catch the excess.
He was so focused he didn’t hear her at first.
Then her voice, soft and a little unsure: “Coffee. Cream only. Do you take sugar?”
He turned slightly, caught her reflection in the mirror before anything else. She was standing just inside the doorway, holding out a mug like she wasn’t sure if he’d take it.
He raised a brow. “No sugar.”
“Sweet enough already?” she teased, a dry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Not sweet at all.”
She set the mug down on the counter, her shoulder brushing the doorframe as she leaned against it. Watching him.
He finished the last edge, smoothed the sealant one final time, and stood up slowly, wiping his hands with a rag from his belt.
He didn’t reach for the coffee right away.
He stood beside her, catching their reflections in the mirror. Tall woman. Tall man. Close. The mirror didn’t lie—she was all legs and feminine angles. He was square-shouldered, rough-edged, and altogether too aware of how hot his sister’s best friend was.
He picked up the mug, took a sip. Good coffee.
“I’d gut this whole thing,” he said, nodding toward the shower. “New tile, modern fixtures, decent exhaust fan. Vanity’s a write-off. Probably open the space a bit—lose the linen closet and run a floating sink with under-storage.”
She listened, nodding, but her gaze didn’t leave his face.
“I’d keep the tub, though. That cast iron? Original. Can’t buy that quality anymore. You refinish it, it’ll outlast both of us.”
“You talk about bathrooms like most people talk about art,” she murmured.
“It’s craft. Craft matters.” He set the mug down.
“I’m beginning to understand why you do this on the side,” she said.
“Is that so?”
“This is your passion.”
Heath laughed, sipping the hot coffee. After a minute, he nodded to her. “If you’re gonna sell, might as well do it right.”
She was still looking at him—like she wasn’t seeing the work anymore. Just him.
He cleared his throat, stepping back.
“I should probably head out. We good on the plan?”
She didn’t answer. Not right away. Just nodded slowly, like the last few minutes had bent something between them out of shape.
Heath reached for his tool bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He gave her one last glance.
Tomorrow. He’d be back.
But this—this unexpected awareness of her—needed to stay buried under drywall and tiles.
Heath marched down the stairs and moved toward the door, about to leave, when her voice stopped him.
“I—”
He turned and found her behind him in the entrance way.
Maddie looked like she was physically battling with herself, fingers twitching at her sides, teeth pressing into her lower lip.
She inhaled sharply, then, in a rush—
“This is going to be a strange request, but I’d appreciate the opportunity to learn.”
He frowned slightly, stepping back inside. “Learn?”
She lifted her chin, clearly forcing herself to own what she was saying.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, voice polite, controlled. “I… I see value in learning the basics. I really know nothing about how to even hold a power tool or how to choose a drill bit. And since you’ll be here anyway, I was wondering if I could shadow you. I promise I won’t be a bother.”
Heath tilted his head, studying her.
She meant it. And not in a casual way.
He could see what it took for her to say it—that she had probably spent a long, long time depending on someone else for things like this, and now, she wanted to prove she could do it herself.
He almost told her it wasn’t necessary—that he’d take care of it, that she didn’t have to worry—but that wasn’t what she needed.
So instead, he nodded. “Alright.”
Her shoulders visibly relaxed.
“But,” he added, arching a brow, “that means you have to actually listen when I tell you how to do something.”
Maddie almost smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
“And I’ll charge you extra for the lessons.”
“You wouldn’t.”
True. Heath let out a low chuckle and shook his head.
Yeah. This was going to be interesting.