Page 20 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

“I’ll go back,” Jules said finally. “It’ll be…normal. Roommate normal. No more late nights on the balcony. No more sketching as if I’m Jack and he’s my Rose.” Okay, that was melodramatic. Ollie was obviously rubbing off on them.

Sam gave them a long look. “I get you’re trying to protect your heart, Jules. Just don’t build a wall so high no one can climb it—even the ones who want to.”

“I’ll keep a ladder nearby,” they said with a tired smile.

Ollie grinned. “And if you need to escape again, the tequila is in the freezer and the couch is always yours.”

Jules sipped their coffee, savoring the warmth. They’d go back to face Keaton. They just needed to finish their coffee first.

Maybe they were making too big of a deal about this. Maybe they were the one actually making things weird between the two of them. It was only by facing what had happened that they could prove to Keaton it didn’t need to ruin the friendship they’d been building.

Jules lingered at Ollie’s front door longer than necessary, one hand braced against the frame, the other curled around the strap of their bag.

It was easy to be brave when they were sitting on the couch, surrounded by their friends, but as soon as Jules walked through that door, there would be no turning back.

Going to the apartment felt just as unpleasant as driving out to their parents’ place. All the warmth they’d started to build with Keaton—those late-night conversations, the gentle silences—had vanished like steam on glass.

The drive was short, but it gave them plenty of time to replay every look, every word, every moment that had been building between them. By the time they reached the parking lot, their stomach was a knot of nerves and resignation.

They paused outside the door. This wasn’t a grand return. There would be no heart-to-heart, no cinematic apology. Just an apartment shared by two people pretending they hadn’t blurred the lines between comfort and complication.

They’d left in a flurry of emotion, seeking refuge with friends who offered comfort and the space to sort through their confusing feelings without risking upsetting Keaton to the point he decided it wasn’t going to work out for them to live together after all.

Now, with a reprieve of laughter and caffeine-induced pep talks behind them, the path ahead felt daunting.

Stepping inside felt like slipping into a pair of shoes that had yet to be broken in—familiar, yet unyielding. This was home, or at least the closest semblance of it, but the silence stretched taut between the walls.

They’d expected to be alone, so they stopped short when they were met with the sound of classic rock.

Keaton sat at the dining table, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The soft glow of his laptop cast shadows across his features, making him appear both intensely focused and distant.

Jules’s heart clenched with something that was equal parts longing and frustration.

He was the picture of calm, while their emotions churned just beneath the surface.

For a second, Jules considered turning around and leaving again. They’d never been good with confrontation. But that wasn’t going to solve anything. If Keaton was going to give them a wide berth, it was up to Jules to bridge the gap.

“Hey,” Jules offered, their voice carefully controlled.

Keaton looked up, surprise flickering momentarily before settling into a cautious smile. “Hey, welcome back.”

The exchange was simple yet laden with all the things left unsaid.

Jules moved to the kitchen, setting their bag down with a decisive thud that echoed in the room.

In the quiet, they could almost hear the pulse of their own heart, jittery and unsteady.

As they reached for their sketchpad, a corner of paper caught their eye.

Jules’s hands shook as they unfolded the slip of paper, the edges creased from where Keaton had clearly hesitated before leaving it. The note was short—just a handful of words written in Keaton’s tidy, deliberate script:

I’m sorry for acting like an immature asshole the other night. I didn’t mean to kiss you, but I don’t regret it. My only regret is how I reacted. Forgive me? The apartment is too quiet without you here, and I’d like to make things right.

Reading it, Jules felt the breath catch in their throat. This wasn’t just an apology—it was Keaton reaching out, admitting what he felt in the only way he knew how.

“I didn’t know if you’d see that.” Keaton’s voice broke into their thoughts, his tone tentative. “I came home the other night hoping we could talk, but you were gone. When you didn’t come home at all that night, I left it so you’d know I really am sorry for making things weird between us.”

“Thanks.” Jules folded the note again and tucked it into their pocket. They knew they should probably reassure Keaton that they didn’t make life miserable, but they couldn’t. Because he had. But now, he was the one trying to make things right.

The air between them crackled with an unfamiliar energy. Jules met Keaton’s gaze, finding a flicker of vulnerability mirrored in his eyes. It was a look that spoke of regret, but also hope.

Jules hesitated for a beat, then moved to join Keaton at the table, slipping into the chair across from him. It felt like an unspoken agreement to step past the awkwardness into something more honest. The tension in the room shifted, no longer a barrier but a bridge toward understanding.

Keaton shut the lid of his laptop. He stood and crossed the room, jerking his head toward the living area. “Sit with me?”

Jules swallowed hard around the lump in their throat.

Their tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of their mouth, and they were still struggling to find the words they wanted to say.

Everything had been planned out on their drive home, but now Keaton had flipped the script, and Jules didn’t know what to do.

Jules settled into what they were starting to think of as their end of the couch.

Instead of pressing his body against the other armrest as he used to, Keaton sat near the middle, facing Jules with one arm resting on the back of the couch.

His other hand kept moving between his thigh and the cushion between them.

When Keaton finally spoke, his voice was low, his words measured. “I reacted poorly the other night. I shouldn’t have bolted on you that way.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” That was one thing they could agree on. “Why did you do it? Why kiss me?”

“Because I’ve wanted to for months,” Keaton admitted. Jules felt as though the wind had been knocked out of them. “That night, my curiosity got the best of me.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” Jules would’ve given anything to hear these words from Keaton, but not like this. Not when they seemed to cause him pain.

“Because it shouldn’t have happened. Even if I want to kiss you, that doesn’t mean I get to just take what I want.” Keaton seemed agitated now, like he was arguing against his own desires. It made no sense to Jules.

They waited in silence, hoping he’d finish explaining himself because Jules had no freaking clue where to go from here.

Keaton wanted them. But he didn’t want to want them.

When it was obvious nothing more was coming from Keaton, Jules sat up straighter.

“That has to be one of the most ridiculous things I’ve heard.

I wanted it too. You know I did. Remember, I’m the one who gave you my number, not the other way around.

I thought I made my wishes pretty damn clear. ”

“And I never called or texted,” Keaton pointed out. “I have no clue about the number of opportunities I’ve blown when it comes to you. For all I know, you’ve moved on, decided you were tired of waiting around for me to get my head out of my ass.”

“Does it really matter?” Jules placed their hand on Keaton’s forearm.

”And for the record, I’m a stubborn idiot when it comes to you.

Even if someone else had approached me, which they haven’t because it’s not like I spend a ton of time where guys who’d be into someone like me hang out, they couldn’t hold a candle to you. ”

Keaton stiffened. His eyes narrowed when he finally looked up from his lap. “It matters to me. Why should I get to ignore you for months and then kiss you without even asking if you wanted me to?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jules quipped. This was utterly ridiculous.

Keaton did want them, yet he was the one arguing against the kiss.

“Maybe becauseI’m not so fragile that I’m wounded you didn’t call.

And I’m not delusional enough to think one kiss would lead to a marriage proposal or whatever you’re worried about.

It happened. It was good. I’d like for it to happen again.

But if you don’t feel the same way, I don’t see any reason the two of us can’t be reasonable adults about this. ”

Keaton looked like he’d been slapped. Not because Jules had said something cruel—far from it—but because they’d peeled back every excuse he’d been clinging to, leaving him exposed.

Jules didn’t flinch from his gaze. Not this time. Their stomach churned with the realization that their words applied to both of them. Jules hadn’t exactly been reasonable when they were hiding at Ollie’s.

“I’m not asking you to rearrange your whole life for me, Keaton,” they said, softer now, letting the honesty settle between them.

“I know you’ve got your business and your family and a million other things pulling at you.

I’m not here asking for candlelit dinners and hourly check-ins.

I just… I want to know I matter. That you want this too. If you do.”

Keaton’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled, the breath rattling out of him like he’d been holding it for days. Maybe he had.