Page 18 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

Keaton wasn’t sure how to interpret that statement. Maybe he didn’t need to. “Change is always hard, but this could be exactly what you need to prove to yourself that you are capable of doing whatever you’d like.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jules didn’t say anything more, and Keaton let them sit with their feelings for a bit. Maybe he didn’t need to do anything other than be there for Jules.

As the first drops of rain began to fall, they reluctantly retreated inside, the warmth of the apartment enveloping them like a familiar embrace. Keaton closed the door behind them, the sound of the rain a comforting backdrop to the quiet that settled between them.

Jules lingered by the window, watching the sky flash with lightning. Keaton watched them for a moment, the urge to speak warring with the comfort of silence.

Finally, Jules turned, their expression open and honest. “Thanks, Keaton,” they said, their voice a soft echo of the gratitude that filled the space between them.

Keaton nodded, the words lodged in his throat. “Anytime,” he replied, the promise hanging in the air like a beacon.

As Jules disappeared into their room, the storm raging outside, Keaton knew something had shifted between them. It was a change he couldn’t quite define, but it was there, a persistent presence that refused to be ignored.

And for the first time in a long while, he found he didn’t mind. If anything, he welcomed it.

Keaton wandered into the softly lit living room, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet.

It had been days since their conversation on the balcony, yet the memory lingered like the scent of rain.

He found Jules curled up on the couch, sketchbook in hand, a mug of chamomile tea resting on the coffee table, part of their evening routine, he’d learned.

The air was perfumed with its soothing aroma, adding to the warmth of the scene before him.

The light from the lamp cast gentle shadows across Jules’s features, highlighting the serene concentration on their face.

There was something almost reverent about the way they focused on their art, as if each stroke of the pencil was a meditation, a way to make sense of the world.

Keaton hoped Jules found a way to make money off their art because it’d be a shame to waste so much talent and passion.

“Sketching again?” Keaton’s voice was a soft reverence, careful not to break the calm of the moment.

Jules looked up, their smile gentle and inviting. “It helps quiet my mind,” they replied, eyes holding a quiet invitation that drew him closer.

Keaton settled beside them, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. He felt the calm energy Jules exuded, a balm against his own restless thoughts.

“I envy that,” he confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. It was a rare admission, leaving him feeling both exposed and oddly liberated. The more time he spent with Jules, the more he paid attention to his own thoughts and feelings.

Jules’s smile widened, a touch of understanding in their eyes. “I think everyone has their way of handling stress. Yours is probably just more organized than mine.”

Keaton chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “You might be right about that.”

He picked up the thriller novel Finn had brought him this morning.

He wasn’t much of a reader, but Finn couldn’t stop talking about this particular title, so Keaton had told him to bring it in when he finished reading.

If these quiet nights in the living room were going to become more frequent, he needed something to do other than watch Jules draw like a creepy stalker.

It only took a few pages for Keaton to be sucked into the story, and before he knew it, he was into the third chapter.

Every once in a while, he’d glance up to see Jules still hyper-focused on the paper and pencils.

It was adorable how their nose scrunched up and they leaned closer to the paper, brows furrowed in concentration.

Whatever they were working on, they were taking great care to get everything just right.

Eventually, they let out a deep breath. They looked up, the corner of their mouth tipping into a shy smile when they realized Keaton was—once again—watching them work. “Want to see?” they asked, their voice tinged with hopeful anticipation.

Keaton accepted the sketchbook, careful not to smudge the pencil lines as he studied the intricate sketch. His heart skipped a beat when he realized he was looking at the front of their building. Jules was a wizard with their pencils. The Anderson Homeworks logo on the window was perfect.

He squinted to get a closer look and realized Jules had even managed to draw Finn sitting at his desk behind the logo, fainter so it looked realistic.

They hadn’t missed a single detail, and Keaton was honored they’d chosen to draw the place that meant so much to him.

It complicated his feelings, drawing him further into their world, making it harder to keep his distance.

As he handed the sketchbook back, a comfortable silence settled between them.

Keaton had no clue what to say in response.

What he did know was that he wanted Jules to find a way to have that sketch blown up and printed so he could hang it in the office.

Just as Keaton was about to speak, there was a loud pop and the apartment suddenly plunged into darkness.

He heard Jules’s surprised gasp, followed by a playful laugh that broke the tension.

“Damned transformer blew,” Keaton announced. It wasn’t super common, but it seemed to happen far more frequently than Keaton liked. He didn’t even bother calling it in, knowing they’d be inundated with other people calling, demanding their power come back on immediately.

“Looks like we’re roughing it tonight,” Jules quipped, their voice light and teasing. “Good thing I’d already finished. Knowing my luck, there would’ve been a huge pencil mark across the page.”

“That would have been a shame, but I’m sure you could have fixed it,” Keaton replied.

He crossed the apartment carefully to avoid running into anything.

He kept a flashlight in the junk drawer in the kitchen, and that would at least give them a bit of light.

When he turned it on, nothing happened. Of course it was dead.

He was about to pull out his phone when he heard the flick of a lighter.

When he turned around, Jules was arranging candles on the end tables, lighting each one to illuminate the room.

The flickering light cast a warm, intimate glow, transforming the space into a cozy cocoon of shadows and soft light.

The room felt far too intimate with the dancing flames circling the couch.

He should retreat to his bedroom, away from temptation, but he wasn’t ready to say goodnight to Jules.

Keaton quickly pulled a beer out of the fridge for himself and poured a glass of the white wine Jules had picked up at the farmers’ market last weekend for them.

The thumping of his chest felt like a sledgehammer breaking down the walls he’d tried to build around his heart. When he handed Jules their wine, another brick fell away. He settled on the couch, the distance between them shrinking in the newfound closeness.

“Have you ever done this before?” Jules asked, their eyes sparkling.

Keaton shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. “I’m more of a flashlight guy, but it’s nice.”

Jules laughed, the sound bright and infectious. “For some reason, I think that might be a stretch for you. I’m surprised you don’t have your phone out to see what’s going on and how long the power will be out.”

Keaton was too. But he was starting to like these quiet moments in the dark with Jules. Everything felt easier when the world around them faded away.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Jules suggested. “I talk a lot about myself, but I still don’t know much more about you than I did when I moved in.”

Keaton knew he changed the subject whenever Jules tried to get him to talk about himself.

He wasn’t trying to be cagey. There just wasn’t much to tell.

As his friends liked pointing out, he was boring.

His entire life was work and home, aside from when he went to Brew & Barrel with Luke on Thursdays, but he wasn’t sure that counted as an exception.

“What do you want to know?” Keaton asked when he couldn’t come up with anything to share that Jules wouldn’t already know about him. “You can ask me anything and I’ll answer.”

“Nothing’s off-limits?”

“Nothing,” he confirmed, even though his stomach twisted, wondering why Jules looked so giddy about this offer.

Jules curled their feet onto the cushion, getting more comfortable. They grabbed the throw blanket that had appeared last week and draped it over their legs. Keaton scraped a hand through his hair, his breaths shallow and quick.

“What’s your type?” Jules finally asked. Their voice was quiet enough that Keaton wasn’t sure he’d heard them right. They nibbled their bottom lip.

Clarity slammed into Keaton like a physical force. This was the closest either of them came to acknowledging the fact that Jules had been brave enough to take a chance, and Keaton had blown them off like the gesture meant nothing.

Or like he wasn’t interested.

Back then, he’d been more intrigued than anything, but now he was definitely interested. He just didn’t know how to take a step that had the potential to blow up the tentative friendship they were building.

“I’m not sure I really have a type,” he finally admitted.

It could’ve been seen as a cop-out, but it was the truth.

He thought about the men he’d dated in the past and couldn’t find a common thread they all shared.

He’d never been the type to simply look at someone and want to take them to bed.

For him, it had always been about the connection he felt, even if just a physical one for the night.

Keaton felt a wave of calm wash over him as he shared tidbits about his past relationships.

The dimness seemed to invite honesty. He admitted that while he’d dated, he’d never had someone he considered as a potentially permanent fixture in his life, the stories tumbling out with a newfound ease.

There was a stark difference between those experiences and the connection he felt with Jules, a realization that both unnerved and thrilled him.

Jules listened intently, their gaze gentle and knowing, as if they could see directly into the core of Keaton’s growing desires.

Each word Keaton uttered tethered them closer, weaving a fragile yet unbreakable bond in the flickering warmth of the room.

As he spoke, he shifted on the couch, craving closeness in a way that was completely foreign to him.

The air between them crackled with an undeniable energy, as if the room itself was charged with the potential of what could be. Keaton’s pulse quickened. The space between them seemed to shrink, an invisible force drawing them together, as if it had always been meant to happen.

He could hear Jules’s breath growing as shallow as his own.

Everything beyond the room faded into insignificance, leaving only the charged stillness around them.

It was a moment suspended in time, where the world held its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Neither said anything. They simply stared in disbelief at what felt inevitable.

Keaton paused, caught in the gravity of the moment, and then their eyes met again. In that silent exchange, an understanding passed between them, a promise unspoken yet crystal clear. It was a moment beyond words, a surrender to the emotions that had been building between them.

With a heart brimming with hope and a touch of fear, Keaton finally leaned in to kiss Jules.

The kiss was a gentle exploration, a tentative promise of new beginnings, yet it simmered with an intensity that set his heart racing.

The world outside was forgotten, leaving only the sensation of Jules’s lips on his, a connection that felt destined and profoundly right.

His hand slid around to the back of Jules’s neck, gently massaging, holding them out of fear they’d pull away. Their lips parted, and Keaton took that as an invitation to deepen the kiss. He smiled against Jules’s lips when a quiet sigh escaped.

Just as he was about to push Jules back on the couch so he could slip a hand under the gauzy fabric of the shirt they wore, the lights flickered back on, the harsh glare abruptly grounding them back in reality. They separated quickly, the moment between them broken.

Jules blinked rapidly, and Keaton wasn’t sure if it was shock or them trying to adjust to the light. And he wasn’t sticking around to find out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”

He practically leaped off the couch, needing space to wrap his head around what he’d just done. His heart fractured when Jules called out his name. He didn’t turn around, couldn’t bear to see the hurt on their face.