Page 48 of Small Town Daddy

"Anything for you," I replied, keeping it casual. But inside, I felt a warmth spreading, knowing she appreciated my help.

We finished breakfast, cleared the table, and headed over to her place.

I took a moment to admire what we'd accomplished so far. Fresh paint on the walls, new fixtures glinting in the morning light. It was our work, a testament to what we could do together.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Lucy said, catching my gaze.

"Yeah, it does," I agreed, feeling a hint of pride mixed with something deeper.

We changed into work clothes, ready to dive into the task at hand. The glass house had seen better days—boards splintered, nails rusted, old panes cracked. We got to work, side by side, peeling away the old to make room for the new. We couldn’t do much about the glass, but the wooden structure needed attention, too.

"Pass me the tape measure?" Lucy asked, stretching out a hand. I handed it over, enjoying the flow of working in tandem.

"Sure thing," I said, watching her focus, every movement precise.

As we measured and cut, the sounds of saws and hammers filled the air—a symphony of productivity. But more than that, it was the companionship I valued. This unspoken understanding between us made the hard work feel almost effortless.

"You're quiet today," Lucy noted, glancing over.

"Just thinking," I replied, not wanting to break the spell.

"About what?"

"About how good this feels," I admitted, keeping my voice steady.

"Yeah, it does," she echoed softly, and we shared a look that said more than words ever could.

With each board fixed in place, the glass house started to come alive under our hands. But it wasn't just the physical transformation that mattered. It was the sense of building something together—something real.

I wiped sweat from my brow, feeling the grit of sawdust against my skin. Lucy was beside me, steady and sure, with a smudge of dirt enhancing the determined look in her eye. She was focused, measuring twice before cutting once—a lesson we learned the hard way last week.

"Looking good," I commented, nodding toward the beam we'd just installed. Her concentration didn't waver, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Thanks. It's coming together," she replied, eyes fixed on her work. There was something about seeing her like this—committed, strong—that made my heart clench. It reminded me of last night, of trust built in quiet moments and whispered words. Vulnerability laid bare.

"You're doing great, by the way," I added, unable to stop myself. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, a glimmer of shared understanding passing between us. “You’re a really quick study.” I wondered if she felt it too—the connection, the pull that seemed to draw us closer with each passing day. I wanted to ask, to speak the truth that lingered just beneath the surface.

"Marcus," she said softly, pausing as if reading my thoughts. But before either of us could continue, the distant purr of an engine broke the spell.

A sleek car rolled into the driveway, its polished metal glinting in the light. My stomach tightened. Out stepped a woman, all confidence and sharp business attire. She approached witha smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Hello!" she called out, voice carrying across the yard. "I'm Vanessa Mitchell from Mitchell & Co. Real Estate."

Lucy straightened, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Hi there," she greeted, stepping forward. There was a confused look on her face. I stayed back, watching, sensing the shift in the air. This wasn't just a casual visit.

Vanessa extended her hand as she approached. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said to Lucy, her voice smooth like she'd rehearsed it a hundred times before. Then she shifted gears without missing a beat. "You've done amazing work here," she added, her eyes sweeping over the house. "I understand that you might be looking to sell. The market's on fire right now. You could sell this place at a premium and head back to city life."

My stomach dropped at those words. The idea of Lucy leaving hit me like a gut punch. I stayed quiet, hammer in hand, trying to keep my face neutral. But inside, everything twisted up.

Lucy nodded, listening politely. Her expression was calm, but I noticed that flicker—just a brief uncertainty in her eyes. It was enough to make me grip my hammer tighter, the metal cold and hard in my palm. I didn't want to sway her decision unfairly, but damn if the thought of her leaving didn't make me feel like I was standing on shaky ground.

"Thank you for reaching out," Lucy said, her voice cool and collected. She took Vanessa's business card with a polite nod. "I haven't made any decisions yet. I'm still figuring things out."

"Take your time," Vanessa replied, flashing that professional smile again. "But don't wait too long. Opportunities like this don't last forever. The market always cools eventually." With a final nod, she turned on her heel and walked back to her sleek car, heels clacking against the pavement.

As Vanessa drove away, silence wrapped around us like an unwelcome guest. I watched the dust settle, my thoughtstangled. The idea of Lucy leaving was a bitter pill stuck in my throat.

"Well," Lucy finally said, breaking the quiet. Her voice was steady, but I caught the edge of uncertainty beneath it.

"Yeah," I replied, not sure what else to say. My mind was a mess of thoughts and feelings I couldn't untangle. I wanted to tell her how much I needed her to stay, but the words died in my throat.

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