Page 6 of Daddy Next Door

Working together, we awkwardly shuffled the box up his porch steps and through his front door. The entryway opened to a living room that was more put-together than during my welcome-basket visit. Bookshelves now lined one wall, filled with psychology texts and what looked like research journals.

“Damn, you work quick.”

“Was up past midnight.”

"Home office?" I asked, nodding to the box between us.

"Yeah, down the hall. I'm setting up the second bedroom."

We navigated the box through the hallway, my back occasionally brushing against the wall. Ethan guided from his end, his instructions clear and direct. "Tilt right a bit—perfect. Now just a few more steps."

The room was clean and minimal–just a simple desk with a desktop and a comfortable-looking chair so far. Large windows let in plenty of natural light, and a small potted plant sat on the windowsill.

We set the box down in the center of the room, and I felt a drop of sweat roll down my back from the exertion. Ethan looked unfazed, not even breathing hard.

"Thanks for the rescue," he said. "I should've known better than to think I could handle this solo."

"My expertise doesn't end at graphic design," I said with a smile. "I'm also a semi-professional furniture assembler."

"Is that so?" His eyebrow arched with amusement.

"The XR3000 and I had quite the battle last year. I learned its weaknesses. I can help you set it up if you want—the instructions miss a couple of crucial steps."

Ethan looked at the box, then back at me. "That would be amazing, actually. Are you sure you're not too busy?"

I thought of the Vitality Juice logo waiting on my screen. "I could use a break from work. Sometimes stepping away helps me see things clearer when I go back."

"I know exactly what you mean." His smile created tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Let me get us some water first. It's thirsty work."

While he went to the kitchen, I examined the room more closely. A framed diploma hung on one wall—his psychology doctorate from Brown. Below it, a certification in play therapy. Everything was arranged with precision, even the pens on his temporary desk lined up by size.

When he returned with water glasses, we set to work unpacking the desk. I appreciated how he listened attentively to my advice about the assembly, never dismissing my experience despite being older and much stronger than me. We fell into an easy rhythm—me holding pieces in place while he tightened screws, him steadying the frame while I connected the wiring for the height adjustment.

"This part's tricky," I said, reaching for a small Allen wrench in the tool pile between us. Our fingers brushed as he reached for the same tool, and a small jolt ran up my arm. His hands were warm and dry, fingers long and steady.

"Sorry," he murmured, pulling back to let me take it.

"No problem." My voice sounded higher than usual. I focused intently on the screw I was tightening, aware of his gaze on my hands.

The most challenging part came when we needed to attach the desktop to the frame. I was demonstrating how to align the pre-drilled holes when Ethan moved behind me to see better. His chest was inches from my back, his breath warm against my neck as he leaned forward.

"Like this?" he asked, reaching around me to point at the connection point. His arm didn't touch me, but the closeness made my skin prickle with awareness.

"Yeah," I managed, the word coming out slightly breathless. "The trick is to start with this corner screw, then move diagonally."

He nodded, his chin almost brushing my shoulder, then stepped back. The space behind me felt suddenly empty, cooler.

As we finished the assembly, I noticed a small teddy bear logo on a notebook on his desk. Something about it seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it.

Ethan tested the height adjustment, nodding with satisfaction as the desk smoothly rose. "Perfect. You're a lifesaver, Lily."

"Happy to help." I wiped my hands on my yoga pants. "How's the move-in going otherwise?"

"Almost done unpacking. Just a few technical issues to sort out." He ran a hand through his hair. "The internet's been spotty. Keeps cutting out at the worst moments."

"That happened to me when I first moved in too. Might be the old wiring in these houses."

"Probably." He gathered the packing materials, his movements efficient and planned. "I need reliable internet for my sessions. Can't have it dropping in the middle of a conversation. Anyway thanks again for your help. I owe you one."

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