Page 104 of Puck Your Friend

Frankie crouches beside the frame, brushing her hand over the space under the center supports. “Compartments? I’ve already got closet space.”

I glance over and smirk. “I’ll show you the plan for them later.”

She tilts her head. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?”

My smirk widens. “Every day since you moved in.”

We assemble the compartments, every piece sliding into place. They roll in seamlessly, hidden, so the bed looks like it sits flush with the floor.

Frankie wipes her palms on her thighs when the last screw bites in. I test the corners with my weight. Nothing shifts or creaks. The wood’s solid, meant to hold all of us. Doesn’t matter with how low it sits, but it’s good to check.

Then we add the headboard, the only part I didn’t fully make. It has an iron oak tree design across the front. Picked it up from a local metalworker and mounted it myself. Along each side, at arm’s height, are three matching anchor points in the shape of branches and leaves. She holds it and I bolt it in place against the accent wall.

We step back. The whole thing’s finally come together.

Her eyes find mine, and she reaches for my hand. “I love it. Thank you for doing this for me.”

I nod. “Only thing left is the mattress, but first, we should paint. Do you feel up for it? The frame went a lot faster with your help, so we have tons of time to chill if you’d rather do that.”

Frankie looks toward the paint cans lined up near the wall. Her shoulder skims mine as she leans to check the labels. “Painting sounds fun. And I like the accent wall being behind the nest. It works.”

We shift the drop cloths into place, covering the frame and the floor. I open the first can and set us up.

She handles the brush with quiet focus, lip pulled between her teeth as she concentrates on the edges along the baseboards and around the window. I take the high stuff.

The room fills with the clean smell of fresh paint. Her shirt already has a smear of white across the front. Good thing it’s one of Ford’s worn-in ones.

She overreaches by the window and laughs when the brush slips, streaking her wrist and flicking paint onto my forearm.

I glance down, then back at her. She’s still grinning, more surprised than smug.

I nod toward the brush. “You calling that a warning shot?”

Her eyes spark, like she might pretend it was. She taps the brush lightly against my bicep. “Maybe.”

I boop her nose with paint. She swipes at my cheek.I drag my brush over her hip, streaking paint across her thigh.

We trade swipes, paint catching shoulders and calves. Frankie ducks under my arm and streaks a line across my lower back, and I catch her wrist in my hand just in time to stop the next one.

It slows when she leans forward, palm braced against the windowsill. Her smile holds, but there’s a flicker behind it.

I set my brush down, let go of her wrist, and step toward her. My hand hovers near her waist. “You okay?”

Frankie nods quickly. “Yeah. Just warm.”

I won’t push. She knows I’m here.

She picks up the brush again, hand steady as she finishes the trim near the corner. I stay close, tracking every shift in her body while she works.

We keep at it together, splitting the last bit of edging before moving to the broader sections with the rollers. The room isn’t big, and the color goes on smoothly.

The breeze carries through the window. The paint will dry fast. With how light the coats are, it’ll be ready for the other furniture from Omega Deco before the evening.

We lift the mattress into place. I carefully slice open the plastic and tug it off fast before it gets too heavy. The memory foam expands. The nice thing about Omega Deco mattresses and fitted sheets is they all come with a waterproof top layer, so no need for towels when we make her squirt.

Frankie flops down before the bed finishes expanding, limbs sprawled. Her hair fans out around her as she smiles. “This is like sleeping on a cloud.”

Her joy doesn’t last. A grimace pulls at her mouth.

---