Page 24 of Room to Spare (The Fixer Upper #2)

The place was quiet. A slow Tuesday night crowd—two couples near the back playing cards, a guy nursing a beer at the end of the bar, and a group of college kids hunched around a table covered in laptops.

Low music drifted from the speakers overhead, something mellow and acoustic that matched the pace of the night.

And behind the bar was Jules.

They were wiping down a row of pint glasses, sleeves pushed up, a scarlet bandanna tied loosely around their wrist. Their hair was a little messier than usual, and they wore a black T-shirt with the bar’s logo and a pair of faded jeans that had seen better days.

Keaton had never seen someone look so effortlessly comfortable in their own skin.

Jules glanced up—and froze.

Their eyes widened for a split second, then softened into something that looked dangerously close to relief. “Hey, stranger,” they said, setting the glass aside and tossing the rag over their shoulder. “I was starting to think you were all talk.”

Keaton cleared his throat and made his way to the bar, choosing a seat two stools down from the beer guy. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

Jules leaned both elbows on the counter, their grin crooked. “You’re here. That counts.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”

“Trust me, you’re not.” They glanced around the room. “This is what we call a ‘glorified library with alcohol’ night. You want something?”

Keaton hesitated. “Whatever’s on tap is fine.”

Jules raised a brow. “That’s not how this works. You’re talking to someone who names their houseplants and judges produce on its emotional journey. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Surprise me then.”

Jules lit up like they’d just been handed a challenge. “Dangerous words to say to the person behind the bar.”

He loved that the easy banter between them was back. It wasn’t the same as when they were at home, but it was good. Nice.

They moved behind the bar with practiced ease, pulling a pint and sliding it across the counter with a flourish that would’ve looked ridiculous on anyone else. “This one’s a small batch amber ale from that place over in Rock Hill. Malty, smooth, and slightly bitter—just like someone I know.”

Keaton took a sip, and dammit, it was good. “You’re not wrong.”

“About the beer or you being slightly bitter?”

He shot them a look, and Jules just laughed, the sound threading through his chest like static.

They drifted down the bar to serve another customer, but not before tapping the top of Keaton’s hand with two fingers. Brief. Barely there. But enough to leave a trail of warmth behind.

Keaton took another sip, trying to shake off the feeling that he’d wandered into unfamiliar territory without a map.

This wasn’t the kind of place he usually felt at ease.

But tonight, with Jules moving through the space like they belonged to it—and maybe a little to him too—he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. He watched Jules chat with a pair of regulars, then disappear into the back to restock. When they returned, they slid into the space across from him, elbows on the counter, chin resting in their palm.

“You doing okay?”

Keaton blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jules shrugged. “You’ve got your ‘I’m fine but actually spiraling’ face on.”

“I don’t have a face.”

“You absolutely do. Like you’re trying to do math in your head, but the numbers keep talking back.”

Keaton exhaled slowly, letting the truth drift up before he had the chance to bury it. “You ever feel like maybe you’ve built your whole life around the wrong things?”

Jules tilted their head. “Depends. Are we talking about your borderline obsessive affection for spreadsheets or something deeper?”

“Maybe both.” He looked down at his glass, tracing the rim with his finger. “There was this kid on site today—one of the new guys—joking around with another employee. Said I probably go home and jerk off to perfectly square corners.”

Jules choked on a laugh. “Okay, rude. Also, weirdly specific.”

“I know it was just a dumb comment. But it stuck.” His jaw flexed. “Because I’ve heard it before. Different versions. That I’m too stiff. Too married to the job. That I’m not the kind of guy who?—”

“Who what?”

“Who has someone waiting for him at the end of the day.”

Jules was silent for a beat. Then, quietly, “Do you want to be that guy? The one who has someone waiting for him?”

Keaton didn’t answer right away. The truth felt too big to say aloud. But he nodded.

“Then be him,” Jules said simply.

“It’s not that easy.”

Jules leaned in, voice lower now. “Keaton, I already told you I don’t need you to be someone who texts me twenty times a day or drops everything to be there for me. I don’t need grand gestures. I’m not sure what else I can say to make you believe that.”

“You matter more than you might know,” he said, the words coming out rougher than he intended.

“Then tell me when you’re scared. Tell me when it gets too much. Let me be part of it instead of assuming I’ll be in the way.”

Keaton met their gaze, something raw and unspoken passing between them. “I’m trying.”

They didn’t say anything else. Just smiled, small and quiet, and went back to wiping down glasses.

Keaton sat there long after his glass was empty, watching Jules move through the bar like their feet were always half a second ahead of their thoughts. Light. Unpredictable. Alive.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like life was something happening to him. He felt like he might actually have a say in it.

He stood, tucked a tip under the empty glass, and caught Jules’s wrist as they passed.

“Hey,” he said.

They turned, eyes questioning.

“Thanks for not letting me stay stuck in my own head.”

Jules’s smile was slow and soft, the kind that made Keaton’s chest ache in the best way. “Are you kidding? If the hottest man in town is interested in me, I’m not going to let him slip away.”

Keaton leaned across the bar, just enough to press a kiss to their cheek. Jules blinked, stunned, and he could see the blush bloom across their face.

“Now who’s surprising who?” they murmured.

“Gotta keep you on your toes.” His fingers ghosted down Jules’s arm. “I’m going to head out and see if I can get a nap before you’re done. Wake me when you get home?”

“I’ll try, but I’m pretty sure you sleep like the dead,” Jules teased.

It was true. He rarely heard Jules get home from work, and there’d even been a few nights he’d fallen asleep on the couch, hoping to wake so they could spend some time together.

“Any suggestions on what’ll work without dumping a bucket of ice water on your head? ”

“You’re a creative person. I’m sure you can come up with something good.” In a completely uncharacteristic move, Keaton winked before turning to walk away. He glanced back when he reached the door to see Jules gaping at him.

Yeah, Jules wasn’t the only one surprised by Keaton’s playful mood tonight. But if he wanted to prove to Jules that he was trying, he needed to get the stick out of his ass.

The next two hours were going to crawl.