Page 50 of The Knotheads Next Door
I wince. "That sounds... expensive to fix."
"It would be, if I wasn't eating the cost myself." He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in a way that should look ridiculous but somehow just makes him more attractive. Unfair. "I measured twice, but the wall's not square. Old houses never are."
I lean forward, genuinely interested despite myself. "Can you adjust the cabinets?"
"Not without delaying the project by three weeks. And they're already living with a half-finished kitchen." He taps the screen with a callused finger. "I'm trying to figure out if I can modify the wall instead, but it's load-bearing, so..."
"Complicated," I finish for him. "What if you split the difference? Adjust the wall a bit where you can, modify the cabinets just enough to make them fit?"
He looks at me with surprise, as if he wasn't expecting an actual suggestion. "That might work, actually. If I can shave a quarter inch off the corner cabinet and use the trim to disguise it..."
He trails off, already sketching on the screen. I watch him work, fascinated by the transformation. The perpetual scowleases, replaced by intense focus. His hands move with precision, confident and capable.
"You really love this, don't you?" I ask. "Building things. Fixing problems."
He glances up, a hint of defensiveness in his expression. "It's just a job."
"No, it's not," I counter. "Not to you. I can see it in the way you work. It matters to you, getting it right."
He's quiet for a moment, assessing me with those intense eyes. "Yeah," he finally admits. "It does."
We sit in surprisingly comfortable silence as he continues sketching. I signal to Zeno for a coffee, which he delivers with a suspicious look between Jasper and me.
"You've been at this a while, haven't you?" I ask after taking a sip. "You seem... tired."
"Since 5 AM," he confirms, rolling his shoulders with a grimace. "One problem after another today."
An idea forms, one that I immediately try to dismiss. But for some reason—maybe temporary insanity, maybe genuine concern—I hear myself say:
"I could help."
Jasper looks up, eyebrows raised in skepticism. "With what? Cabinet modification?"
"With whatever you need. Basic stuff, at least." I shrug, trying to appear casual even as I question my own sanity. "I grew up helping my dads with home projects. I know my way around a toolbox."
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Why?"
It's a fair question. One I'm not entirely sure I have a good answer for.
"Because you look like you could use an extra pair of hands," I say finally. "And because—don't let this go to your head—I kind of like fixing things too."
A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming it completely. It's the first real smile I've ever seen from him, and it hits me with unexpected force, like a physical blow to the chest.
Oh, this is not good.
"Alright, Whitley," he says, gathering his blueprints. "Let's see what you've got."
Which is how I end up back at the house, in old jeans and a t-shirt, helping Jasper build a prototype of the modified cabinet design using scrap wood in the garage.
It should be awkward. Tense. Fraught with all the unspoken complications that have been building between us.
Instead, it's... nice. Jasper is different when he's working—more relaxed, more open. He explains what he's doing as we go, not dumbing it down but making sure I understand. He's patient when I struggle with a particularly stubborn piece of wood, and genuinely impressed when I demonstrate my proficiency with a nail gun.
"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asks after I perfectly set a row of finishing nails.
"Pops was a contractor before he retired," I explain, feeling a pang at the mention of my family. "He taught me the basics. Said everyone should know how to fix things themselves."
"Smart guy," Jasper nods approvingly.
