Page 64 of Nocturne

He leans against the porch railing, arms crossed, looking far too at ease.

“So,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

I push open the front door, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face as I take in the inside. In my old apartment, space was tight, and there wasn’t much room to decorate it the way I wanted. But with this house? The possibilities felt endless.

I still remember the sweet old landlord, winking as he handed me the keys.“Spruce it up, darlin’.”And I did.

The front door opens into a cozy space that feels entirely mine. To the right is the living room, and to the left, a sitting area I’ve painted a deep, moody green. In contrast, the living room walls are a soft, pale pink—the perfect balance of warmth and calm.

The sitting area has a small hearth, with two couches facing each other in front of it, inviting conversation or quiet evenings by the fire. Bay windows frame the walls on either side of the door, and I’ve filled them with colourful cushions, turning them into the kind of cozy nooks I used to dream about.

Beyond the spiral staircase—directly across from the front door—is my favourite part of the house: the kitchen. Big and open, with checkered floors and sage green and white cabinets. It’s the heart of the home, warm and welcoming. Cooking always made me feel close to Mom, and I want to pass that on to Cas—to create the same kind of happy memories she gave me.

Upstairs, I’ve kept my bedroom simple. Beige and white, with a touch of minimalistic boho charm. It’s peaceful, just how I like it.

Cas’s room, though—that’s Ivy’s project. She’s painting it, and she’s adamant I’m not allowed to see it until she’s finished.

I trust her completely. She’s an incredible artist, and I know she’ll make his room perfect. After all, it’s the most important room in the house.

“This is quite a cute little place you’ve got, love,” he compliments.

“Right? Thank you, Eero.” I smile at the man as I gesture to him on the couch set in the living room.

Mounted on the wall opposite the couches is a large flat-screen TV, delivered just yesterday. Cas has been obsessed with Animal Planet lately, and I want him to have the best things I can provide.

Eero strolls further into the room, pausing near the pile of wooden planks stacked behind the couch. He glances at it witha raised brow before dropping onto one of the couches, draping his arm casually along the backrest.

“That’s the bookshelf I need to assemble,” I explain, nodding toward the chaotic heap of parts.

Eero tilts his head, inspecting the mess. “Hate to break it to you, but it looks like shite.”

“I know.” I groan, shooting a glare at the deep, rich brown wood that’s been haunting me since last night. “I followed the instructions to the T, and itstillwouldn’t hold up.”

He chuckles, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Want me to take a look at it?”

I arch a skeptical brow, giving him a deliberate once-over. His loose-fitting, beige formal shirt is tucked neatly into dark beige pants, the first three buttons undone, revealing a hint of tanned skin and a chain around his neck. His fingers glint with rings — more than any man should probably wear — and his loafers scream money. The sunglasses dangling from his shirt complete the look.

He looks less like a handyman and more like he just stepped off the pages of some luxury fashion spread.

“You?” I ask, disbelief laced in my tone.

Eero presses a hand to the right side of his chest, feigning hurt. “You think I can’t assemble a silly bookcase? You wound me, darling.”

I roll my eyes. “Wrong side, genius.”

He glances down, realising his mistake, then grins. “Can’t point to something I don’t have.” He winks and pushes to his feet, stretching his arms.

I can’t help but smile at his antics. He’s trouble, no doubt about it. But at least he’s trouble with a good sense of humour.

Eero slides his sunglasses off and places them on the coffee table before crouching in front of the pile of wooden planks. He tilts his head slightly as if the heap of wood might reveal its secrets if he stares at it long enough.

I head to the kitchen to grab the toolbox, returning to find him already tossing aside the instruction sheet with a muttered"Useless."

A smile tugs at my lips as I hand him a screwdriver. He takes it without looking up, his boyishly handsome face scrunched in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth.

There’s something disarmingly familiar about it. It tugs at a long-forgotten memory, pulling me back to a time when life was simpler—when I had a swarm of cousins constantly at my side. We were a noisy, wild bunch, always running around, getting into trouble, trying to outdo each other in everything.

Then Papa got rich. And people started showing their true colours. The laughter faded, and one by one, the cousins drifted away, revealing that blood ties aren’t always strong enough to survive ambition and greed.

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