Page 23 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

He wasn’t used to having someone waiting for him at home. His chest warmed as he realized just how much he liked it.

No worries. I was just trying to figure out what to make. I’ll be at work by the time you get home.

Closing shift tonight.

Well, that sucked. He’d been looking forward to inviting Jules to watch a movie. Maybe make out a little. Because that was a thing they did now. Before he could respond, Jules texted again.

If you want, swing by when you’re done. It’s probably going to be a fairly slow night, but Jamie doesn’t want anyone closing alone.

Maybe I will.

Keaton debated texting Luke to see if he wanted to hang out before remembering he had a life now. Long gone were the nights Luke goaded him into going to the bar. Now, he was a total homebody, doing the family thing with Noah and Eli. They were so damned cute together. It was sickening.

He set the phone facedown on the passenger seat and pulled onto the road, trying to shake off the weight of the day. He wasn’t sure if it was the missed lunch, the busted delivery schedule, or the offhand comments from the new guys still looping in his brain, but everything felt heavier than usual.

And now he was late. To a dinner he’d promised not to miss. To his family, who noticed every crack in the armor he tried to keep intact.

He let out a breath, fingers drumming restlessly on the steering wheel, wishing he could turn the truck around and head straight home instead.

He knew he should be looking forward to dinner, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to see Jules.

It was ridiculous, really, but he hated the nights Jules had to work.

The apartment felt emptier without them sitting on the opposite end of the couch, drawing while he read.

He hated that the best part of his day wasn’t going to happen because he had to spend time with his family.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the ache that had settled there.

Just a few hours. He could do this—smile, make small talk, act like his mind wasn’t a thousand miles away.

But the truth was, he’d rather be home, enjoying dinner with Jules, sharing the couch, maybe just sitting together in that quiet way that didn’t feel lonely anymore.

He missed them, plain and simple. And that was starting to matter more than almost anything else.

The thought lodged in his chest.

He turned onto his parents’ street, the porch light already glowing in the early dusk, and steeled himself for the questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

Dinner at his parents’ house was supposed to be a break. It wasn’t.

He showed up twenty minutes late with a bottle of wine and a headache that hadn’t eased since mid-afternoon.

Paige opened the door with a smirk. “Wow. Wine and running behind. Are you dying?”

“Just trying to soften the crowd,” he said, brushing past her.

“Is that what we’re calling guilt these days?”

His mom appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “You made it,” she said, pulling him into a hug that smelled like rosemary and lemon. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about us.”

“I didn’t forget,” Keaton said. “Just got caught up on site.”

“You always do.” But her voice was gentle, not accusing. “It’s a good thing I know you come by it honestly.”

Ouch. Keaton tried to think back to his childhood, wondering if his dad had been the same way at one point.

“We started working on the apartments today,” he explained as he picked up the platter of chicken quarters to take to the table.

It was just him, his mom, and Paige tonight.

His dad was out of town, taking care of some things for Keaton’s grandparents.

Soon enough, they’d have to move into a smaller place that was more manageable for them.

Thinking about them selling their home made Keaton think about Jules and how it must feel for them to lose that part of their history.

They settled around the kitchen table, the three of them passing dishes and catching up on local gossip.

Keaton let the rhythm of his family’s banter wash over him without needing to contribute much.

Paige did most of the talking—about her students, the art project at the community center, and the mural timeline.

“So,” she said, casually spearing a roasted carrot, “when are you bringing Jules to one of these?”

Keaton paused mid-bite.

Diana raised an eyebrow. “Jules? As in the boy who’s living with you now? He’s the one you hung out with in high school, right, Paige?”

“Mom, they’re nonbinary,” Paige corrected her. Keaton’s throat felt thick, and his chest tightened. Should he have been the one to point out her mistake?

“I’m sorry. You told me that before.” She picked up the bowl of rice, scooping some onto her plate before passing it to Keaton. “Paige, you were friends with him—I’m sorry, them. That’s going to take time to get used to. We didn’t have all these things when I was young.”

“No, you didn’t know about people like Jules when you were young.

There’s a difference.” Keaton gaped at his sister, in awe of how fiercely she stuck up for others.

“People like Jules have always existed, but now they’re free to be their authentic selves openly, and I think that’s amazing. Don’t you, Keaton?”

Keaton sighed. “Um, yeah.” He didn’t want to say enough to give anything away. “I’m not sure Jules will be up for family dinners anytime soon. They’re still reeling from their parents selling the farm and moving.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. That’s the place out on Harvest Mill Road, right?

” Of course she knew which property had recently sold.

Even when they weren’t her listings, his mom had her finger on the pulse of the local market.

“Well, please let them know they’re welcome to join you anytime.

Your friends are always invited to dinner. ”

Keaton and Paige both tried hiding their amusement at how she emphasized Jules’s pronouns. He wasn’t sure if it was to show them she was trying or to commit the right pronouns to her memory.

“Yeah, bring your friend, Keaton,” Paige said.

There was something in her tone that said she didn’t believe he and Jules were just friends and roommates.

He glared at her, silently warning her against saying anything else.

He didn’t need his mom figuring out he actually liked Jules as something way more than a friend.

Somehow, he managed to get through the rest of dinner without either of them hounding him about his love life. Not that he was complaining, but it was funny how now that he might actually have one, both of them were quiet.

On the way home, Keaton drove past the apartment building without thinking. His truck turned in like it had a mind of its own, tires crunching over loose gravel. The lot was empty now, the equipment quiet. Just the skeleton of a building under repair—and the promise of something new.

He looked up at the second-floor windows. He was still torn between wanting everything to be perfect for Jules and wishing there was a way to convince them that there was no reason to move out of Keaton’s apartment. Was that why he’d come out here tonight? To think?

After doing a quick walk around the perimeter of the building, he got back in his truck.

There were no answers here, and nothing for him to do.

He turned the music up on his way home, trying to drive out the thoughts that wouldn’t quit.

It worked. Sort of. He sat in the truck long after parking, asking himself yet again what he was doing.

You’re finally taking a chance on something. On some one.

The silence inside the apartment unsettled him.

Where he used to crave solitude, now it felt lonely.

He dropped his keys in the ceramic bowl by the door and stood there for a beat, listening for something—anything—that might shake the silence loose.

Jules’s shoes weren’t by the door. Their hoodie wasn’t draped over the back of the couch where it usually ended up after a shift.

Of course they weren’t. They still had a few hours left in their shift.

He should’ve felt relief, maybe. A chance to decompress alone. But all he felt was restless.

Keaton moved through the motions—changed into jeans that weren’t covered in grime, washed his face, even opened the fridge before remembering he wasn’t actually hungry.

His mind kept looping back to dinner with his mom and Paige, to the way his sister had defended Jules with such easy, unflinching certainty.

To how his mom had tried—even if she’d fumbled through the pronouns like they were a foreign language.

Would she be as accepting if this thing they were doing turned into something serious?

He sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen. Jules had said he could come by. That it would be a slow night. That they wouldn’t be alone. But still, he hesitated.

What was he doing? His thumb moved before he could overthink it.

Be there in a few

He hit send before he could lose his nerve, slid the phone into his back pocket, and grabbed his jacket.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was too soon to visit them at work just so he could be close to them.

But tonight, for once, he wasn’t going to let the fear win.

He had someone worth walking toward.

And that was enough to get him out the door.

The glowing sign cast a soft amber hue across the sidewalk, and for a second, he just sat in the truck.

Engine off. Windows cracked. Radio low. He could still leave.

Head home, soak in a hot shower, pretend like he didn’t miss Jules’s voice, their easy laughter, the way they always leaned in when Keaton talked, like every word might be a secret worth savoring.

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, Keaton slid out of the truck, shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, and walked through the door.