Page 137 of Show Me

“Hey.” I push to my feet.

He drops a folder on the counter, glancing around like he’s taking inventory. “Everything running smooth?”

“As always.”

“That’s because of you,” he says easily. “Best receptionist we’ve had.”

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, unexpected and immediate. “I answer phones.”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “And keep this place from falling apart.”

The door opens again behind him. I don’t have to look to know who it is. I do anyway. Xavier steps inside, boots hitting the floor, gaze sweeping the room, quick, automatic.

He catches the tail end of it. Travis standing too close to the counter. Me flushed—the compliment hanging in the air. Something flickers across his face. Quick. Tight. Gone as fast.

His jaw sets for half a second, then loosens as if he's made a decision not to react.

“About time you showed up.” Travis turns, cuffing Xavier lightly on the shoulder as he passes. “I was starting to think you left her in charge for good.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Xavier mutters.

Travis laughs. “Careful. She might believe you.”

He grabs his folder, gives me a quick nod, and heads back out the door like he didn’t drop a match into a room already full of tension. The silence he leaves behind isn’t loud. Just… aware.

Xavier moves further inside, setting something down near the workbench, already shifting into conversation with his dad. Work talk. Measurements. Timing. Materials.

I let it wash over me, half-listening as I flip my phone back over and settle onto my chair. The message is still there. Waiting. My thumb hovers again. This shouldn’t feel like something important. It’s dinner. That’s all.

My phone buzzes. Not him. Dad. I answer before it can ring again. “Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “You heading home soon?”

“In a bit.” I turn away from the room out of habit. “Just finishing up here.”

We talk for a few minutes about nothing important. Weather, a neighbor, something he needs to fix at the house. Normal conversation. Familiar. Grounding.

When I hang up, I exhale, staring at the blank screen before I look up again. Xavier’s dad is grabbing his jacket.

“I’ll see you both in the morning.” He strides for the door. The same easy walk his son has. However, Mr. Cole’s is slower, as if time is catching up with him. Probably too many years standing on concrete and slinging a hammer.

“Night.”

Xavier nods, already halfway across the room, picking something up, setting something else down, restless energy that hasn’t settled since he walked in.

The door shuts behind his dad. The office quiets. Just us.

I wipe my hands down the front of my jeans, more out of habit than necessity.

“I texted you,” Xavier says.

I blink. “What?”

He glances over, something sharper behind his eyes now that the room’s empty. “I asked what you wanted for dinner.”

“I saw it.”

“And?”