Page 75 of Until the Storm Breaks
So I do, reading quietly just for her while she works, my voice low and steady. She continues drying glasses but slower, her attention clearly on the words. The look on her face as she listens, focused and content, lips slightly parted, makes me forget about everyone else. I have to force myself to keep reading instead of just staring at her.
“All that tragic masculinity,” she comments when I pause, setting down a clean glass with a gentle clink.
“It’s called depth,” I protest, but I’m fighting a smile.
“No wonder he’s one of your go-tos,” she teases. “You love all that stoic brooding.”
“Guilty,” I admit with a rueful grin.
“That’s why you have me now,” she says, eyes sparkling. “To call you out when you start getting too brooding and literary.”
“Lucky me,” I say, meaning it.
“Very lucky,” she agrees playfully, then straightens as the door opens. “Hold that thought.”
I’m perfectly content in my corner with my book and my bourbon, looking up every few pages to watch her work. She keeps catching me watching and giving me this private smile that makes everything else fade away.
I’ve never felt this settled before. This sure of something. Sitting here watching her pour drinks and joke with regulars should probably feel boring after a few hours, but instead it feels like exactly where I want to be. I’m completely gone for her.
The thought should terrify me. I’ve spent years avoiding this exact feeling, this vulnerability. But watching Maren work, seeing how she brightens when our eyes meet across the crowded bar, I can’t remember why I was so afraid of this. Of wanting someone this much. Of being wanted back.
Around ten-thirty, Maren finds me at my corner stool. “My shift’s over. Lark’s closing tonight.”
“Perfect timing,” I say, closing my book and standing.
“You actually made it through some pages,” she observes, pulling off her apron and hanging it behind the bar.
“About ten total. Kept getting distracted by this beautiful bartender,” I tell her.
“Smooth,” she says, grinning as she grabs her bag. “Ready?”
“Always,” I reply, already heading toward the door with her.
We call goodbye to Lark, who waves us off with a knowing smile, and head out into the cool night air. Without discussion, Maren takes my hand, interlacing our fingers as we walk. Herhand is smaller than mine, fitting perfectly, and I like how natural this has become already.
“Thanks for keeping me company tonight,” she says softly, squeezing my hand.
“Thanks for not minding that I can’t stay away,” I say.
She laughs, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Why would I mind? I like having you there. Makes the shift go faster. Plus you’re very nice to look at between customers.”
“Objectifying me already?” I ask.
“Always,” she says cheerfully, swinging our joined hands slightly.
We walk slowly, neither of us in a hurry to end this. The moon is almost full, casting everything in silver light, and the familiar path between the bar and our cabins feels like its own private world.
The sun’s barely up and I’m already covered in sawdust and sweat. I’ve been working on the sunroom since five-thirty, trying to get the frame squared before the day gets too hot. My shoulders ache from holding boards in place, and there’s probably more dirt on me than on the ground at this point.
I still haven’t figured out how I can save the house, or evenwhetherI can save it, but something in me won’t stop working on it.
I strip off my work shirt as I head inside, leaving it on the porch. The cabin is quiet, morning light just starting to filter through the windows. Maren’s still asleep in my bed, sprawled across the mattress like she owns it, which honestly she might as well at this point. We’ve been sharing beds for days now, hers or mine, neither of us even pretending we’ll sleep apart.
I head straight for the shower, desperately needing to rinse off the construction grime. The shared bathroom between ourcabins is small but functional, and I turn the water on, letting it heat while I strip off the rest of my clothes.
The hot water feels incredible on my sore muscles. I stand under the spray, letting it wash away the sawdust and sweat, already thinking about getting back to work after breakfast. If I can get the frame done today, I can start on the roof tomorrow.
The shower door opens behind me.
