Page 8 of Knot in Bloom
We’re standing in my small shop, talking about childhood memories. But what’s happening here feels adult and heated. Makes my pulse race and my body want things I shouldn’t be thinking about.
This is dangerous territory.
“So.” I step back deliberately. Need space to think clearly. “When would you start the work?”
Professional distance slides back into place. Though something heated lingers in his eyes.
“This weekend if that works for your schedule. I’ll need to pick up materials Friday.But I know you’ve got the Kerr wedding Saturday. We could work around that… start early Saturday morning before you need to prep, then finish up Sunday.”
“That could work. The wedding flowers don’t need much prep time since the rehearsal dinner arrangements are already handled and they are reusing them for the wedding dinner.”
“Right.” He considers this carefully. “I’ll start Saturday at dawn, get the structural work done while you’re handling the wedding. Should have you completely waterproof by Sunday evening.”
The efficiency reminds me exactly why I used to trail after him and Dean. They always had a plan. Always knew how to break down impossible problems into manageable steps. Made everything seem fixable.
“This is too much, Caleb. You probably have your own life to figure out.”
“Like what?”
The simple question catches me off guard. “I don’t know. Isn’t there someone you should be spending time with? A girlfriend or...?”
The words come out more awkward than intended. But I need to know.
“There’s not.” His answer is immediate and definitive. “Haven’t been anyone serious in a long time. Haven’t been anyone at all, actually, since I’ve been back.”
“Oh.”
“What about you? Someone I should know about before I start hammering on your roof at ungodly hours?”
The question catches me completely off guard. There’s no boyfriend. But there are feelings developing. About a bookstore owner who finds beautiful passages. About the man standing here offering to fix my roof and looking at me like I’m something worth protecting.
“No. No one serious.” Though even as I say it, I can feel Levi’s notebook on the counter behind me, and wonder if that’s completely honest anymore.
“Good.” Quiet, but with emphasis that makes my pulse stutter. “But first, let me take care of that water situation. You shouldn’t have gone this long without basic plumbing.”
“Caleb, you don’t have to?—”
“This is why I’m here.” He’s already pulling tools from his belt, scanning the shop. “You have a step ladder? Probably just a loose coupling that finally gave way. Old pipes don’t like suddentemperature changes - could have been the stress from the recent cold snap.”
“There’s one in the back storage room.”
I watch him retrieve the ladder and set it up directly under the worst of the water damage. He climbs up with practiced ease, pushing aside a ceiling tile to examine the plumbing in the roof space above.
I watch him work, competent hands making quick adjustments to pipes I can barely see. There’s something mesmerizing about watching someone who knows exactly what they’re doing solve a problem that seemed insurmountable to me.
“Now let me turn your main water back on,” he says, climbing down and heading to the utility closet where I’d shut off the valve yesterday morning. I hear the metallic squeak of the valve being turned.
“Try your faucet,” he says, folding the ladder.
I turn the handle at my small sink behind the counter, and clean water flows out. Real water. For the first time in over twenty-four hours.
“Oh my god.” Relief floods through me so strongly I actually feel tears prick my eyes. “Caleb, thank you.”
“Temporary fix,” he warns, wiping his hands on a shop rag. “Still need to do the full repair this weekend. But this should hold until then.”
He gathers his tools with the same efficiency he used to fix the problem. “Now you can shower and make coffee. Take care of yourself.”
When he’s gone—leaving behind lingering woodsy warmth and the promise of weekend construction—I sit on my couch with Levi’s notebook and try to process what just happened.
