Page 24 of The Love Comeback
She sighs, helping to hold the piece steady. “Like why Landon left. Why his parents had to die. Why we had to move.” Her voice softens. “Hard questions.”
My hands falter for a moment. “I’m sorry, El. That can’t be easy.”
“It’s not,” she admits. “But it’s life. Our life, anyway.”
There’s a quiet strength in her words that makes my chest constrict. I want to tell her how amazing I think she is, how I admire the way she’s stepped up for Colton, how she’s rebuilt her life around him without complaint. But I’m not sure if those are words she wants to hear from me.
Instead, I focus on the task at hand, guiding her through each step of the assembly. She’s a quick learner—always has been—and soon we’re working in sync, me screwing pieces together while she holds them steady, passing tools before I even have to ask for them.
As we work side by side, attaching the backing to the frame, our shoulders almost touching, I find myself hyper-aware of her breathing, the subtle scent of her shampoo, the way her brow furrows in concentration. It’s intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for, this simple act of building something together.
We eventually reach the point where we need to stand the bookshelf up and position it against the wall. I stand to my feet, dusting off my hands on my jeans.
“Ready for the moment of truth?” I ask, offering her my hand without thinking.
She hesitates for just a second before taking it, allowing me to help her up. Her hand is warm in mine, soft. I hold on a moment longer than necessary before letting go, missing the contact immediately.
“Let’s do it,” she says, positioning herself on one side of the bookshelf while I take the other.
“On three,” I direct. “One, two, three…”
Together, we lift the structure, careful not to strain the newly assembled joints. It’s heavier than it looks, and I watch Ella’s face to make sure she’s not struggling. Her expression is determined, focused, and I’m reminded again of how strong she is—not just physically, but in every way that matters.
Together, we maneuver the bookshelf against the wall, and I step back to assess our work. It’s level and solid—a job well done.
“Not bad.”
“Not bad at all,” she agrees, standing beside me to admire our handiwork. “Thanks, Kade. Really.” Her gratitude is sincere, her eyes meeting mine with a warmth that makes my heart stutter.
“It’s no problem at all.” I smile. “So, what’s next?”
Ella dusts off her hands and turns to survey the room, her eyes landing on a cardboard box labeled “Books” in perfect handwriting.
“Might as well start filling this thing,” she says, gesturing toward the bookshelf. “Otherwise, it’s just going to be an expensive dust collector.”
She kneels besidethe box of books and cuts through the packing tape.
“Just start grabbing them and we’ll sort as we go,” she says.
I reach in and pull out a handful of paperbacks, most with creased spines and dog-eared pages. Among them, I spot familiar titles—classics she’d talked about in high school, science fiction that had once prompted late-night debates, and a few newer novels I don’t recognize.
“Your collection has grown,” I observe, carrying the stack to the bookshelf.
She smiles, a genuine one that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. “Books are the one thing I splurge on.”
I arrange the paperbacks on one shelf while she brings over a stack of hardcovers. Our hands work in parallel, filling the empty shelves with pieces of her life. It strikes me how intimate this feels—helping someone organize their books is like getting a glimpse of their soul.
A soul I used to know so well…
“You know what I remember?” I say, pulling out a well-worn copy of some advanced mathematics text. “How you always had a book at my games.”
Ella pauses, a small paperback midway to the shelf. “You noticed that?”
“Every time,” I confirm, smiling at the memory. “You’d sit in the stands with a novel propped open, but somehow never miss a play.”
“Multitasking,” she says with a small shrug, but I can seethe hint of color in her cheeks. “I had to have something to do during the boring parts.”
“Boring parts? In hockey? I’m wounded, Ella. Truly wounded.” I clutch my chest.
