Page 11 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

Amelia giggled, smearing a streak of pink paint across her own nose. “He’s not an alien, Jules. He’s a slug prince.”

“Ah. My bad. Royalty then.” Jules dipped a fingertip into the glue cup and dabbed it beneath two oversized googly eyes. “Your Highness.”

Across the room, chaos reigned in its usual adorable, mildly concerning form.

Kids darted between stations, glitter bombs popping off like confetti landmines, while Paige shouted over the din from the snack table.

They’d be finding glitter for the next decade, but it was worth it seeing the kids have a great time.

“Jules, you’re a saint,” she called, waving a juice box like a white flag. “Or mildly unhinged. I haven’t decided.”

“Both,” Jules responded without looking up. “Definitely both.”

For the first time in days, their chest didn’t feel tight. Their brain wasn’t looping worst-case scenarios like a doomsday podcast. It was just this. Paint-streaked fingers. A slug prince. A moment of peace.

Then the door opened.

Jules didn’t look up right away. They were too busy trying to keep a little girl from gluing sequins to the sleeve of her sweater.

They glanced up once the girl was refocused on decorating the back of a sea turtle so it shimmered when the sun hit it.

Keaton.

Because, of course, it would have been too much to ask for Jules to be able to keep avoiding him.

He stood in the doorway holding a cardboard box as if it weighed nothing, even though Jules would bet their favorite scarf it was full of newspapers, flour, and the other art-day necessities Paige had been worried they’d run out of because of the turnout.

His ballcap was pushed back slightly, letting a few strands of dark hair slip out along his temple.

He was dressed more casually than Jules had ever seen him, wearing a pair of dark-wash jeans that hugged his thighs in a way that had Jules fighting very inappropriate thoughts and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled past his elbows.

His forearms had no business looking that nice.

Jules’s stomach did a weird little tilt, like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to dive or do a backflip.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” they said, louder than they meant to, which earned them a few curious glances from the nearby kids.

Keaton shifted the box in his arms. “Paige said you needed more supplies. I was already at the hardware store, so I swung by the grocery store to restock.” He glanced around the room, frowning slightly at the glitter storm.

“Figured I’d drop a few things off. The paints are from her place, so they’ll be safe for the kids. ”

Paige appeared beside him like she’d been summoned by the mention of her name. “I didn’t think you’d actually come,” she said, grabbing the box from his arms. “But you’ve officially earned a gold star.”

Keaton gave a modest shrug. “Didn’t have much else going on.”

Jules tried not to read into that. Didn’t have much going on, or had picked this over anything else? Keaton seemed like the type of guy who was allergic to downtime. And from what they’d gathered when he and Luke came in for dinner, the guys had more business than they could handle.

Keaton’s entire demeanor changed when he gave his sister a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

It was a glimpse at what lay underneath the stoic exterior, and that was a very dangerous thing for Jules to witness.

If they realized Keaton was both sexy and had a squishy center, there was no way they’d be able to keep their not-a-crush at bay.

Before they could spiral further, a small hand tugged at their sleeve.

“Jules, he’s eating the glue,” Amelia whispered, pointing toward a boy in the corner with a suspiciously shiny mouth.

“On it,” Jules muttered, shooting Keaton a quick smile before jogging across the room to intervene.

They didn’t look back, but they could feel him watching.

Keaton didn’t leave right away. He helped Paige unpack the box, then stayed to assist a group of kids attempting to construct a sea monster out of egg cartons and tissue paper.

The group had wanted to build a dragon, but Paige had suggested that might be a theme for another event.

Jules tried not to stare, but it was impossible.

Keaton was good with the kids. Like, really good.

Patient in a way that made Jules ache. Eli—Noah’s kid—was sitting on his knees, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he tried to tape cardboard wings onto his monster’s back.

Keaton crouched beside him, not taking over, just offering support when the tape got stuck or the wing flopped sideways.

Jules watched from behind a table of drying sea turtles, arms crossed, heart doing somersaults. This wasn’t fair. Keaton wasn’t supposed to be good with kids. Or kind. Or the type of guy who dropped whatever he was doing to bring down art supplies for the kids.

He wasn’t supposed to fit here. This was Jules’s space.

But he did. Effortlessly. Like he belonged in this chaos, even though everything about him screamed order and structure. It made Jules feel off-balance in the worst way—like the ground could shift at any second, and they’d have no idea which way to fall.

Later, once the last kid had been picked up and the glitter had been mostly contained, Jules found Keaton wiping down tables with a damp cloth. His shirt was speckled with paint. There was a sticker of a narwhal stuck to the side of his boot.

“You didn’t have to stay and help, you know,” Jules said, leaning against the doorframe to the supply closet. “We had it mostly under control.”

Keaton looked up, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Didn’t mind.”

They stood there for a second. Not awkward, exactly. But not easy either.

Jules cleared their throat. “Would you mind helping me carry the paint bins back?”

Keaton nodded and followed them into the supply closet, where towers of labeled plastic tubs lined the walls. Jules lifted the lid on the one marked ACRYLICS and started stacking the smaller containers inside.

Keaton grabbed a second bin and began organizing dries and brushes with methodical focus. His movements were quiet, efficient. Calming.

“I never really pictured you in places like this,” Jules said, voice light. “Glitter doesn’t exactly scream ‘contractor.’”

Keaton’s mouth twitched. “I was more of a glue and LEGO kid.”

“Let me guess,” Jules said, passing him a box of brushes. “You hated it when Paige didn’t put your crayons back in the right order, didn’t you?”

Keaton let out a hearty chuckle. “Am I that predictable?”

Jules laughed, the sound surprising even them. It felt good. Real. “I mean, yeah, you sort of give off that vibe.”

They worked in silence for a bit, the only sound the soft thud of paint bottles and the shuffle of feet on linoleum. Jules wanted to bring up the offer. Wanted to ask if he’d meant it. But the words lodged in their throat like a splinter.

Instead, they said, “Thanks again. For the supplies.”

Keaton looked up, his gaze steady. “Anytime. Let me know if you need more…or if you need help. With anything.”

That pause. The weight.

Jules smiled, but it didn’t quite feel complete. “I’ll let you know.”

He nodded, then glanced toward the hallway. “I should get going. Early start tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Jules stepped aside, giving him room to pass. “Drive safe.”

Keaton hesitated at the door like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t. Just gave a small wave and slipped out into the evening.

The silence that followed was deafening. Before they realized what they were doing, Jules shoved the door open. “Keaton,” they called out, grimacing when they realized how loud they’d been.

Keaton stopped and turned back toward Jules. He shielded his eyes from the sun. “Yeah?”

“If you really meant it, I think I’d like to rent your spare room until you have a unit ready for move-in.” They made sure to emphasize that they’d be paying to stay there, both so Keaton knew they weren’t looking for charity, but also as a reminder that this was transactional.

Jules had no freaking clue how to interpret the smile that cracked Keaton’s face.

His stomach did a little flip as he waited for an answer.

But Keaton didn’t speak. Instead, he crossed the parking lot until he stood directly in front of Jules.

His head tipped to the side the slightest bit.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.

Give me your number, and I’ll text you so we can set up a time for you to come over and see it. ”

Keaton pulled out his phone. Jules bit back a retort about how they’d already given him their number once. If Keaton had forgotten about that, it was best left in the distant past. After rattling off their number, their phone buzzed.

Hey, it’s me.

The corner of Jules’s mouth tipped up. Leave it to Keaton to be straight to the point, even in text. With a bit of the weight off their shoulders, Jules felt almost giddy. They swiped across the screen, composing a message to return.

How do I know it’s you if you don’t tell me your name? This number isn’t in my phone.

Keaton’s phone chimed. He read the message and laughed. “Fair point. Do you make a habit of giving your number to random men?”

“Only once,” Jules admitted, immediately wishing a sinkhole would open beneath them. So much for leaving that night in the past.

“Good to know.” And with that, Keaton winked before turning and walking away.

What in the ever-loving…?

Jules gaped at him as he walked back to his truck. If there was one thing they knew for certain, it was that they’d never understand Keaton Anderson.