Page 100 of Holiday Friend Zones
“Where’s the shutoff?”
“Stuck,” I croak, stepping aside.I hate that my eyes sting.I hate that it’s him who sees it.
He doesn’t say I told you so.He doesn’t smirk.He sets the thermos on the counter, drops his bag, and drops to his knees behind the register.“Give me the wrench.”
I hand it over.He braces, jaw tight, and cranks.The valve screams and then finally turns.The hiss dies.The patter fades to a mournful tap.The silence afterward rings.
Roman exhales.“Okay.”He stands and scans the floor.“We need towels.Buckets.Fans.I’ll call Spencer and Mario—they’re two streets over.We can pull this up and save most of it.”
“You have a crew here?”My voice wobbles around the edges.“Why?”
“Because the forecast said twenty degrees and a north wind, and this pipe’s been cranky since October.”He pulls his phone out.“I was coming either way.”
Something twists in my chest.It hurts in a way I don’t have words for.
He makes two calls.By the time he hangs up, a white van is already turning onto Main.Spencer and Mario barrel in with a stack of shop towels, two box fans, and a Shop-Vac like they’ve been waiting in the alley for the soundtrack cue.Roman starts giving quiet orders that somehow don’t sound like orders.Spencer rolls up the soaked rug; Mario corrals the ruined books into a crate labeled Freeze-dry—Emergency in black marker.Roman wraps a temporary clamp, checks it twice, then checks the thermostat.
I stand in the middle of it all and want to cry.Because he’s here.Because he's always here.Because I tried to turn falling in love into a science experiment when the real answer was walking through my door at seven in the morning with a thermos and a plan.
“Roman.”My voice is too soft.He doesn’t hear me.“Roman.”
He glances up.His eyes land on my face and soften.“Hey.”He wipes his hands on a towel.“It’s okay.We’ll save it.”
“You have a bid this morning.”I don’t know why that’s what comes out.I just know he told me last week—hospital addition, big numbers, a chance to grow faster than he’s ready.“You said nine.”
He hesitates.“I called them on the way.Told them I couldn’t make it.”
“Why would you do that?”
He considers me, something complicated passing over his features.“Because I wanted to spend the day with you and tried to be proactive about the leak ...but I guess it won.”
The words hit everywhere at once.I grip the counter like it might keep me upright.“You can’t keep doing this.”
“What?Showing up?”
“Sacrificing.”The word scorches.“Turning your life into triage because I can’t keep a damn building from falling apart.”
His mouth tilts, not a smile.“Newsflash, Wills.Buildings fall apart.That’s why I have a job.”
“That meeting?—”
“They’ll reschedule.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Then they don’t.”
I hate the way my voice shakes.“You can’t keep choosing me over your company like I’m?—”
“Like you’re what?”He steps closer, the world narrowing to him, his breath, and the damp fabric of his flannel.“A line item I can cut?”
“Like I’m the reason you never get out from under all this.”I swallow, a rush of heat stinging behind my eyes.“Like you’re stuck because I keep needing you.”
For a second, he just looks at me.I know that look.It’s the one right before he laughs something off or throws out a joke to make the discomfort vanish.He doesn’t do either.
“I’m not stuck.”His voice is low.“I choose this.”
“Why?”
