Page 44 of Rook
He dipped the brush into the paint and moved to the opposite end of the trim, giving her space while still helping. His strokes were slow, controlled, something to anchor himself with.
Behind him, Avery finally started painting again, her movements a little too careful, a little too quick.
The silence between them wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either. Just charged. Unspoken. Fragile.
After a moment, Rook cleared his throat. “I’ll finish this side.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
He didn’t look at her. He didn’t trust himself to.
For a while, the only sounds were the soft drag of brushes and the occasional scrape of a ladder shifting across the floor. The earlier heat between them didn’t vanish. It just settled, low and steady, threading through the quiet like something neither of them wanted to name.
Avery worked with her shoulders still a little tight, but her movements grew steadier as the minutes passed. Rook kept to his side of the room, giving her space without stepping away entirely. Every so often, he caught her glancing over, quick, almost guilty, before she snapped her attention back to the trim.
He almost said something once. Her name sat on his tongue, heavy and familiar. But when she paused, waiting, he swallowed it down and dipped his brush back into the paint instead.
They fell into a rhythm after that, not the easy one they used to have, but something new. Careful. Measured. A quiet understanding built in silence.
By the time the sun shifted across the floorboards, the trim was half-finished and the air smelled like sawdust and fresh paint. Avery stepped back to study her work, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the back of her wrist.
He slowed his own brushstroke, watching her from the corner of his eye. The quiet between them wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t sharp anymore either, just careful, like they were both trying not to step on something fragile.
Avery moved to the next section of trim, and he shifted with her, falling into a rhythm that felt new and familiar all at once. The scrape of sandpaper, the soft drag of bristles, and the muted thud of their footsteps blended together, forming a quiet, unspoken truce.
A vibration buzzed against his thigh; sharp in the quiet. He froze for half a second, jaw tightening. Another buzz followed.
Avery’s brush paused mid-stroke, but she didn’t turn.
Rook set his brush down and reached into his pocket.
The screen lit up with a string of messages — short, clipped, urgent. Club business. The kind that didn’t wait.
He exhaled through his nose, the sound low and frustrated. Of course, it would be now.
He slid the phone back into his pocket and wiped his hands on a rag. “I’ve gotta head out.”
Avery nodded, still facing the trim. “Right. Okay.”
He hesitated long enough that she finally glanced back at him. Her expression was guarded, but not cold. Just… careful. Like she wasn’t sure what version of him she was getting.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, quieter than before. “There’s still a lot to do.”
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Tomorrow.”
He grabbed his jacket, pausing at the door. “Lock up after I leave.”
“I will.”
He lingered a second longer, like he might say something else, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a small nod and left through the front door.
The late-day air hit him hard, cooler now, carrying the bite of evening settling in.
Rook swung a leg over his bike and started the engine, the rumble doing nothing to settle the tightness in his chest. The ride to the clubhouse was short, but every mile felt like he was putting distance between himself and something he wasn’t ready to walk away from.
By the time he parked, the sun had dipped low, throwing long shadows across the lot. The clubhouse was quiet, too late for the day shift, too early for the night crowd. He headed straight inside, boots echoing down the hall.
Stone’s office was dim except for the desk lamp casting a warm circle of light over stacks of paperwork and a half-finished bottle of water. Rook stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
