Page 10 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

Jules’s gray mood refused to lift, even after a full night of sleep.

They’d tried everything, finally resorting to spending as much time away from home as possible.

This morning, they were in the mood for a treat and time with a friend.

Sweet & Simple Bakery smelled like comfort—cinnamon and espresso, warm bread, sugar-dusted everything.

It should’ve made them feel better. Usually, it did. But today?

Today, even the wall of pastries behind the glass case couldn’t cheer them up.

Ollie looked up from the corner table where he was hunched over a napkin, pencil in one hand and an already half-demolished cinnamon roll in the other.

“There you are,” he said, grinning. His smile fell when he noticed Jules’s slumped shoulders. “Hey, what’s gotten into you? You look like someone told you glitter’s been outlawed.”

That was almost enough to make them laugh.

Then again, Ollie had always been the one person who could pull them out of a funk.

It was part of why they’d been friends as long as they had.

Jules dropped their bag onto the chair across from him and flopped down without grace.

“Worse. My mom let someone stage the house with fake fruit and beige throw pillows.”

Ollie winced like he’d just bitten into a lemon tart. “Oof. Beige? That’s practically a hate crime.”

“Right?” Jules slumped forward, their arms folded on the table.

They buried their face in the crook of their elbow, muffling the next words.

“Everything smells like lemon cleaner. I feel like I’m living in an open house brochure.

I’m not meant to live in a showroom, Ollie.

I worry I’m going to smudge something every time I move, and I don’t dare pull out my pastels for fear of the dust going everywhere. ”

Ollie got up long enough to grab a second cinnamon roll.

He slid it across the table without a word.

It was warm, flaky, and sticky in all the best ways—comfort food in pastry form.

There were definite perks to having a friend who moonlighted at the bakery just so he could say he didn’t need to rely on his family’s bookstore to survive.

“You’re a saint,” Jules muttered, peeling back the outer layer.

“I know.” Ollie leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs while still sketching with his free hand. “You want to talk about it, or do you want to pretend everything’s fine and I’ll just keep feeding you sugar until you pass out in public?”

Jules chewed slowly, weighing the options. “I’d prefer you open a portal big enough to suck me into another realm.”

“No can do,” he deadpanned. “If you want to talk, I’ll be here. Otherwise, you can drown your sorrows in cream cheese icing.”

They sat in easy silence for a few minutes, broken only by the occasional scratch of a pencil on a napkin and the soft hum of indie music playing over the speakers.

A couple at the counter debated over scones and someone in the corner flipped through a book while they waited for a latte the size of their face.

Jules took another bite, then pointed at Ollie’s sketch. “That a cat?”

“Supposed to be. Don’t judge me. I’m testing ideas for a drink called The Meowcchiato. It’s gonna have a chocolate pawprint in the foam.”

Jules snorted. “You’re ridiculous, and I love it.”

“I aim to please.” And he really did. Since he learned to create latte art and started posting it online, people had flocked to the bakery just for his drinks.

Jules would never tell Ollie, but Jamie, the owner of Brew & Barrel, would love nothing more than to poach him away from here.

If not for the fact that their little town couldn’t support three coffee shops, they’d suggest Ollie consider adding a coffee bar at Shelf Care Central.

More silence. More cinnamon roll. Then Ollie asked, too casually, “So…have you figured out the housing situation yet?”

Jules’s stomach twisted, and not from the sugar overload. So much for letting them wallow in self-pity.

“Kinda,” they said. A bold-faced lie. They took a sip of their tea to buy time. “Still feeling it out.”

Ollie raised a brow but didn’t press. Just waited. He was annoyingly good at that. Life would’ve been so much simpler if one of the apartments over his parents’ bookstore was open, but Jules was pretty sure the tenants who were there would never move out.

Eventually, Jules caved. “Keaton offered his spare room.”

“Hold up.” He blinked rapidly, mouth gaping. “Keaton Anderson?”

Jules nodded.

Ollie nearly choked on his drink. “Wow. Okay. That is…not what I expected.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Ollie said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you have a type, and he’s exactly it.”

Jules groaned. “I do not.”

“Oh please. Tall, broody, and emotionally constipated with calloused hands? You’re practically vibrating with anxiety just thinking about living with him. Are you going to do it?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He grinned broadly. “So, are you moving in with him? You could be Lorelei to his sexy Luke.”

“Luke wasn’t the one pining,” Jules pointed out. Ollie was still early in his binge of Gilmore Girls and loved adding them to every conversation. Unfortunately for him, Jules had watched every episode at least a half-dozen times. “And no, because he only offered to be nice.”

“Nice,” Ollie repeated, drawing the word out like it tasted suspicious. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

Jules gave him a look. Ollie and Sam were the only ones who knew about Jules slipping Keaton their phone number, and they were eager for Jules to get their happily ever after. “He’s not interested. Like, zero percent. I put myself out there, and he never called. End of story.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Okay, but what if he wasn’t sure you were serious? What if he thought you were just flirting to get a better tip?”

“Then he could’ve asked.” Jules dug their fingertips into their thighs, needing to chill because Ollie was starting to make them regret calling to meet up for coffee.

“Could he?” Ollie gave them a pointed look. “You do this thing, Jules. You flirt like it’s a joke and then act surprised when people don’t take you seriously.”

Jules leaned back, arms crossed. “I do not.”

“You do. You put up this whole damn force field of sarcasm and glitter and ‘I’m too cool to care,’ but then you get upset when someone doesn’t see through it.”

“That’s not fair,” Jules muttered, but the words tasted defensive.

Maybe because he wasn’t wrong.

Ollie softened. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I just know what it’s like to want someone and be too scared to admit it. But you shouldn’t turn down a safe place to live because you’re afraid of an incurable case of feelings.”

Jules stared at their tea like it held the answers to life, the universe, and their rapidly unraveling housing situation.

“It’s not a crush,” they said finally, voice quiet. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How?”

“Because he’s…him. And I’m me. And living with someone you’re into when they don’t feel the same way is a recipe for heartbreak.

I’d last five days, max. I’d leave a sock on the floor or forget to rinse my mug, and he’d start labeling the condiments.

And I’d spiral. And then I’d fall harder, and he’d be too nice to ever say anything, even though I was driving him crazy. And I’d hate myself.”

The silence dragged on, Ollie’s gaze filled with concern. Then, “You know what I think?”

“Do I want to?”

“I think you’re afraid.”

“Well, yeah,” Jules snapped, sharper than they intended.

“Of course I’m afraid. I’m losing my home.

I have nowhere to go. My parents are moving halfway across the country, and I’m supposed to just—what?

Be thrilled about playing roommate roulette with someone who’s everything I’m not?

” They dragged a hand through their hair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get snippy.”

With a wave, Ollie shrugged. “You’re allowed. This sucks.”

“Yeah,” Jules whispered. “It really does.”

He leaned in, voice low but steady. “Do the hard thing, Jules. You might surprise yourself.”

Jules stared at him. “You sound like a therapist.”

“I read romance novels. All my best advice comes from there.”

Despite everything, Jules laughed. It came out a little cracked, but it was real.

Ollie grinned. “That’s better. You were starting to look like a tragic indie film.”

Jules rolled their eyes but didn’t argue.

They wiped their fingers on a napkin, then stood and grabbed their bag.

“I should go. I told Paige I’d swing by the community center to help set up.

” There was a teacher in-service this afternoon, so they were having a themed art workshop for the kids.

They were going to create papier-maché sea animals for the library.

Jules was excited to see what the kids came up with.

Maybe that would be what kicked him out of this funk.

“Don’t forget to hydrate,” Ollie called after them. “And maybe text Keaton.”

“Not happening.”

“Yet,” Ollie muttered with a smirk.

Jules flipped him off affectionately as they backed out the door.

Outside, the breeze was cool and carried the faint scent of spring flowers in bloom. Jules let it wash over them, grounding themselves in the moment.

They walked slowly toward the community center, Ollie’s words echoing in their head.

Do the hard thing.

They weren’t ready to decide yet. But maybe they didn’t have to run from the idea either.

Not today, anyway.

A purple gel-filled balloon squirmed beneath Jules’s fingers as they tried to help six-year-old Amelia attach googly eyes to her sea slug.

“Hold still.” Jules chuckled, gently guiding the creature’s floppy antennae into something vaguely symmetrical. “I think that’s about enough eyes. If we add any more, we’re legally required to register it as an alien.”