Page 15 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

Keaton lingered in the doorway, arms crossed in a casual stance that belied the curiosity in his eyes. It was clear he was trying to give Jules space, yet there was a subtle eagerness in his posture. Like he was waiting for Jules to need something, anything, from him.

Jules turned their attention to the boxes, saddened by the realization that they contained everything they considered to be essential in the move.

They began to unpack, pulling out items one by one.

A worn sketchbook with pages curling at the edges, a tangled mess of colored pencils, a small figurine they’d picked up in a market in Barcelona.

Each item was a memory, a story, a piece of their journey.

That had been at the start of their adventure, when they thought they were ready to take on the world.

Literally. Unfortunately, only a week later, their knapsack was stolen, forcing them to realize how sheltered their life had been until that point.

Their first panic attack had come in a cold hotel room that night and had marked the beginning of the end of their time overseas.

And really, the end of their dream of life as a nomad, traveling the world, documenting their travels with paints and pencils.

Keaton watched with quiet interest, his eyes following Jules’s movements. “Need a hand?” he offered, stepping into the room, the floorboards creaking softly beneath his boots.

“Sure,” Jules replied with a grateful smile. “I could use some help setting up a workspace by the window. The natural light there will be better than trying to get the shades right with just the lamp.”

“Sorry, I hadn’t really planned on anyone staying in here more than a night or two, so I didn’t bother wiring a ceiling fixture.” Keaton rearranged the small desk that sat under the window.

“Don’t apologize. I’ve always preferred a spot by the window if I can’t create outside.

Natural light is far better, no matter the lighting situation.

” Jules was starting to see a bit of that soft center Paige had told them about.

Then again, it didn’t get much squishier than Keaton inviting someone to stay with him, even though he obviously guarded his privacy.

As they worked together, a box of colored pencils tipped over, the contents scattering like a rainbow across the floor. They both reached to gather the pencils, their fingers brushing in the process. The brief contact sent a jolt of electricity up Jules’s arm, making their breath catch.

“Sorry about that,” Jules said, their laughter coming out slightly breathless. They were suddenly aware of how close they were, knees nearly touching as they crouched on the floor.

“No worries,” Keaton replied, his voice dropping to a lower register that made something flutter in Jules’s stomach. His fingers lingered a beat too long before withdrawing. “I should have been more careful.”

Their eyes met, and Jules couldn’t help but notice the flecks of amber in Keaton’s eyes, visible only at this proximity.

Keaton’s gaze dropped briefly to Jules’s lips before snapping back up, a flush creeping up his neck.

The room around them seemed to shrink, the distance between their bodies suddenly the only measurement that mattered.

Keaton’s presence was solid, grounding, a reassuring counterpoint to Jules’s usual whirlwind energy—and right now, an undeniable pull that Jules wasn’t sure how to resist.

“So, do you have a favorite medium?” Keaton asked, settling back on his heels once they’d collected the last of the pencils.

Jules considered the question, their gaze drifting to the half-empty box of art supplies. “Depends on the day,” they admitted. “Sometimes it’s pastels, other times it’s ink. I like the freedom to choose, to follow wherever inspiration leads.”

Keaton nodded, seeming to absorb the sentiment. “That’s got to be freeing. In construction, there’s a lot of planning and structure. The most creative I get is finding solutions to make something old feel new again.”

Jules looked at him, curiosity piqued. “Did you always want to go into construction?”

Keaton paused, considering his answer. “Sort of. I like the idea of creating something lasting. A legacy, I guess. Something that stands the test of time. When I was a kid, I loved riding around town with my dad, listening to him talk about the different houses he and his crews built, the businesses they’d rehabbed to modernize them. ”

His words resonated with Jules, their depth unexpected. It was a glimpse into the man beneath the reserved exterior, making Jules’s heart skip in a way they didn’t want to acknowledge.

As they continued to unpack, Keaton helped arrange the room with the same meticulous care he seemed to apply to everything in his life.

Everyone thought Jules was a chaos monster, but in reality, their messes were carefully controlled.

Jules felt a sense of belonging beginning to take root in the space, the initial anxiety of moving slowly giving way to a sense of peace.

“Thanks for letting me invade your space,” Jules said, their voice light but sincere. “It couldn’t have been easy.”

Keaton chuckled, the sound rich and genuine. “I think we’ll balance each other out. Besides, Paige keeps telling me I need to quit being such a control freak all the time.”

The words hung between them, carrying a weight that was both simple and profound. Jules felt a smile spread across their face, the tension in their shoulders easing. Maybe they were beginning to find common ground.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the room, Jules realized they were looking forward to the days ahead. The uncertainty that had loomed over them like a storm cloud was beginning to lift, replaced by the promise of new adventures and unexpected friendships.

Keaton stood by the window, his silhouette outlined against the fading light. Jules’s fingers twitched with the urge to pull out his sketchbook. Keaton was a study in conventional masculinity. They wished it were possible to freeze this moment in time, to capture Keaton as they saw him right now.

“Do you want to grab dinner later?” Keaton asked, turning to face Jules, his expression open and inviting.

“Sounds perfect,” Jules replied, their heart lighter than it had been in weeks. They didn’t want to go anywhere. The bubble they were in felt fragile, as if any outside influence could burst it.

With a shy smile, they returned to the task at hand, the room gradually transforming into a reflection of Jules’s vibrant spirit.

It was a place where they could be themselves, where they could explore the possibilities that lay ahead, guided by the steady presence of a man who was quickly becoming more than just a landlord.

Together, they worked until the last box was unpacked, the room humming with the energy of its new occupant. And as they stood back to admire their handiwork, Jules felt a sense of contentment settle over them, a quiet assurance that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

The kitchen was a blend of sleek surfaces and meticulous organization, a perfect reflection of the man who built it.

Jules stood in the middle, surveying the scene with a combination of excitement and mischief.

They had insisted on cooking dinner as a way to thank Keaton for opening up his home.

It was the least they could do, and besides, cooking was one of the few domestic skills Jules actually enjoyed.

“I promise not to burn down your kitchen,” Jules teased, diving into the fridge with playful enthusiasm.

They pulled out a carton of eggs, some vegetables that looked like they were about a day away from the garbage can, and a package of pasta.

Jules didn’t have a plan, exactly—just a vague idea that it would all come together into something edible. Hopefully.

They wished for some fresh herbs to work with, but judging by the contents of the fridge, that was far too much to hope for. “Please tell me you have spices hiding somewhere.”

“To the left of the stove.” Keaton pointed to the narrow cabinet.

Jules held their breath as they opened the door, the same way they used to cautiously open their closet door in case there was a monster hiding in the dark.

Their shoulders sagged as they let out a breath when they found a surprising variety of jars, all from a local spice shop.

“I’m not completely hopeless, you know.”

The exchange felt close to playful banter. Jules liked it. They turned their head and stuck out their tongue. “It’s not my fault your fridge is one step above a frat boy’s.”

“Do you have much experience with what frat boys keep in their kitchen?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jules quipped, hoping Keaton didn’t push this particular line of questioning.

They’d fallen head over heels in lust with a beefy frat boy in Wyoming.

Why they thought staying with him was a good idea was something they’d love to ask their past self.

Maddix had been well-endowed and knew what to do with it, but as soon as his buddies started giving him shit about the fairy supposedly sleeping in his spare room, things went south.

Jules only hoped they weren’t headed for a repeat of that heartache. They weren’t sure they had another middle-of-the-night move in them. Especially since it’d be a million times harder having it happen in their hometown.

“Only if you want to talk about it.” Keaton leaned against the counter, his arms crossed and something that looked almost like jealously flaring in his eyes.

Jules was about to give him the quick version of what had happened, but decided against trauma dumping a few hours into cohabitation. Keaton mercifully changed the subject.

“What’s on the menu, Chef?” he asked, watching as Jules began to chop and slice with the kind of frenetic energy that seemed to permeate everything they did.