Page 63 of What Remains of Grace

“I’ve gotten used to ending my days here,” he said softly, a little too softly. Jenna immediately perked up at his words.

He cleared his throat, trying to reel himself back into something that resembled professional. “I meant the job. The crew. It’s a good project.”

“Right. Good project.”

A small pause settled between them, one of those moments where he could feel the ground shift under his boots and had no idea what to do about it.

“Can I ask you something weird?”

His stomach dipped. “Uh-oh.”

She nodded toward the bottle clipped to his belt. “Do you bring me premium water?”

He actually blinked. “What?”

“Like . . . top-shelf water.”

He stared at her, completely lost for a moment.

She waved a hand. “It’s just something Emmie said. Forget it.”

But he couldn’t forget it, mostly because he knew exactly what Emmie meant. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to sound like an idiot. “It’s hot,” he said finally. “And you drink more coffee than anyone I’ve ever met. And sometimes you forget to drink anything else.”

Her expression softened in a way that made something tight pull in his chest. “So . . . yeah,” he added quietly. “I try to make sure you’re good.”

She didn’t say anything, just looked at him, really looked, and he felt that look in places he had no business feeling anything.

That was his cue to move. Fast.

He pushed off the post, too abruptly, too obvious. “I should let you get some sleep.”

“I’m going to be up for a while, too much of that coffee,” she said lightly. “Are you doing anything?”

And just like that, the bottom dropped out of him again.

He wanted to say yes so badly it almost slipped out of him, but wanting it made the whole thing dangerous. He shoved his hands in his pockets so she wouldn’t see how badly they shook and forced a step back he didn’t feel.

“See you in the morning, Jenna,” he said, because it was the only thing he could manage that wasn’t a confession.

She held the railing like she needed the grounding. “See you.”

He walked away, and she watched him go.

But the next day, he stayed even later. And later after that.

The wall he’d built between want and risk was thinning, and he wasn’t sure how much longer it could hold.

17

Small Victories

The roof supplies arrived just after sunrise, a delivery truck backing into the driveway with the kind of beeping that made Biscuit bolt under the bed. Jenna stood on the porch with her coffee, watching Cole gesture instructions to the crew in that same calm, controlled way that always made everything look manageable.

Travis whistled low at the stacked bundles of shingles, “Christmas morning.”

“Roof edition,” Cole muttered, but he was grinning. He seemed to love this part. The finish. The last push.

But Jenna knew she felt the same odd mix he did; that excitement and dread braided so tightly she couldn’t pull them apart. This was the last big thing. After this, it was touch-ups and cleanup. After this . . . summer ended.