Page 19 of Kellan & Emmett (Gomillion High Reunion #1)

Emmett

The sound carried first—the drag of a brush against tile, the slosh of water in a bucket. I paused at the top of the stairs, hand on the banister, listening. Not surprising, he wasn’t griping or stalling. There was just the steady rhythm of him working.

I leaned into the rail, arms folding, unfolding again, restless. I couldn't see him from here, but I pictured it anyway—Kellan Miller on his knees with a scrub brush in hand.

My mouth wanted to curve into a smile I wasn’t about to let him see. God help me, there was something satisfying about him carrying weight here—not on a field, or for a crowd, but in this small, ordinary way.

And that was the problem. Ordinary moments had teeth. They stuck.

I gave in and headed down the hall. Found him in the guest bath, T-shirt clinging to his back, sweat darkening the cotton as he worked. His arm moved in firm arcs over the tile, the citrus bite of cleaner stinging the air. That visual had no business lighting me up the way it did.

Don’t read into it. He’s here because he needs a roof over his head, not because he wants you. Turns out, the man’s straight… or at least I think so.

I leaned a shoulder into the doorframe, arms crossed, careful not to hover but close enough to watch.

“Careful with those corners,”

I said, tone mild.

“Guests are picky about them.”

His head tipped, damp hair brushing his temple as he shot me a look.

“Next time, you can demonstrate proper technique.”

I huffed out a laugh before I could stop it, sharp enough that it startled me. He grinned, quick and crooked, and for a second it was like we were seventeen again—elbows knocking, teasing until one of us broke first.

Don’t fall for him again.

The problem was, laughter had memory. My body remembered the way it used to be—late nights, stupid jokes, the way he’d nudge me with a shoulder and I’d shove him back, both of us grinning like idiots. And now, standing there in the doorway while he scrubbed soap scum, my chest couldn’t tell the difference between then and now.

I headed for the laundry room, a cart stacked with fresh linens ready to be hauled upstairs.

An hour bled past. I found him in the dining room. He looked up when I stepped in, and for once there wasn’t an edge in his eyes.

The dining room had emptied out, only the faint clink of pans drifting from the kitchen. Heather had run to the store for milk, Sophia was elbow-deep in dishes, which left the tables bare, sunlight slanting across them in wide golden bars.

“You hungry?”

I asked, keeping my voice even.

His head tipped, mouth quirking in that way that always got to me.

“Starving.”

“There’s cobbler left from breakfast. Eggs too, if you don’t mind them reheated.”

“After the morning I’ve had? I’d eat cardboard,”

he said, dropping the last chair into place.

I barked out a laugh before I could help it, shook my head, and went to the kitchen. A few minutes later I came back with two plates—eggs, a wedge of cobbler, toast stacked high. I set one in front of him and slid into the chair across the table.

“I didn’t think you’d actually feed me,”

he said, grin tugging as he reached for the fork.

“Figured you earned it,”

I answered, tearing a corner off my toast.

Silence settled between us, but it wasn’t strained.

Just the scrape of forks, the faint clatter from the kitchen, sunlight pooling across the table.

He ate like a man who was thoroughly enjoying his meal, and for a while I let myself just watch — the ease of his shoulders, the quiet focus of him.

It had been twenty years since we’d shared something this simple. And God help me, it felt like more than a meal.

June 14

Two weeks in, and I’ve fallen into a rhythm I didn’t see coming.

Mornings at the inn, doing whatever Emmett throws my way — sweeping, hauling, fixing leaky faucets — the kind of work that leaves you bone-tired but satisfied.

By nine, Rick swings by, and I ride with him out to the field.

The kids keep me on my toes, and by the time he drops me back in the afternoons, I’m worn out in the best way.

Evenings, I find myself back at the inn — wiping tables, hauling chairs, sometimes just keeping Emmett company while he finishes the books.

I should feel restless, like I’m wasting time.

Instead, I feel… steady.

Useful.

Like maybe I’ve stumbled into a life that fits, even if it’s only borrowed for now.

And Emmett — he’s not all walls anymore.

Sometimes he lets a crack show.

Sometimes he’s even a playful asshole, just like he used to be.

God help me, those are the moments I look forward to most.

Being in his orbit again feels a little too easy, a little too right.

—K