Page 32 of Not Because You Loved Me

Two Weeks Later

Restoring a 1920s brick house wasn't something you rushed. Before we could even think about drywall, trim, or paint colours, there was a mountain of raw, messy grunt work to take care of. We spent our free time clearing out decades of left-behind debris, tearing out rotted sub-flooring, and stripping back layers of outdated history.

It was exhausting, filthy work, but it quickly became my favourite part of the week because Kat was right there beside me for every minute of it.

She showed up wearing work boots, old worn-in jeans, and a faded university t-shirt with her hair tossed into a messy bun. There was no pressure between us anymore, no eggshells to walk on. We had fallen into a natural rhythm of a real partnership.

I was standing on a stepladder in the middle of the gutted kitchen, pulling down sagging ceiling plaster, when I looked over at Kat.

She was currently wedged halfway inside a lower cabinet frame, a crowbar in hand, prying the rotted wood away from the plaster wall. Dust, wood and plaster coated her nose and shoulders, and she was humming a country song under her breath.

I couldn't help the slow smile that spread across my face.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out a pad of yellow sticky notes and a thick Sharpie that we had been using to mark certain things we wanted to do or remember.

While she was focused on prying off a stubborn piece of board, I stepped over to the exposed wall studs near what would eventually be the dining area and slapped a note right at eye level:

Future nook where Kat will pretend to study to be a badass doctor while actually scrolling through social media.

I grinned, stepping back just as Kat popped her head out from the cabinet frame, wiping her forehead with the back of her gloved hand.

"What are you smirking at over there, Prescott?" she asked, narrowing her eyes playfully.

"Nothing," I said, holding my hands up innocently. "Just admiring the demolition crew."

Kat pushed herself up, dusted off her knees, and walked over to inspect the wall. When she read the note, she burst into a bright laugh that filled the space.

"Hey! I do not just scroll social media when I'm supposed to be studying," she protested, though her cheeks flushed pink.

"Right, right. My mistake," I said, uncapping the Sharpie again. I reached past her and stuck a second yellow note right above the main water line in the kitchen frame:

Location of future double-oven (equipped with a smoke detector for when Kat burns garlic bread).

Kat gasped, feigning offence as she bumped her shoulder hard against mine. "Okay, first of all, I burned garlic bread one time, and that was because you distracted me. Second of all, you're paying for that."

Before I could dodge, she reached out with her dusty work glove and gave my cheek a firm wipe, leaving a smudge across my jaw.

"Kat!" I laughed, reaching out to catch her by the waist and pulling her flush against my chest.

She laughed out loud, resting her hands against my shoulders, her hazel eyes sparkling with pure light. "That’s what you get for making fun of my cooking."

"Fair enough," I murmured softly.

The playfulness softened into something deeper as I looked down at her. We hadn’t taken it past kissing since we reunited, and I was trying my hardest to let her lead. That didn’t mean that every part of me wasn’t ready and waiting for the green light. I brought my hand up, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and thumbing a smudge of something off her cheek.

These past fourteen days had re-grounded me in a way I hadn't known I needed. We went on several dates, even if it was just for coffee. We talked through our days without holding back, and here, surrounded by exposed studs and old nails, we were building something honest.

I leaned down and kissed her, slow, deep, and steady. Kat sighed into the kiss, her fingers curling tight into the fabric of my shirt.

When I pulled back, her eyes were soft and relaxed. "We should probably finish pulling these lower cabinets out before it gets too late," she murmured against my lips.

"Yeah," I smiled, kissing her forehead. "Yeah, we should."

I stepped back toward the stepladder, but Kat surprised me with an “Or...”

“Or?” I asked, trying to keep the prepubescent squeak out of my voice.

Kat’s eyes went from warm to heated, and I had to swallow a growl. She stepped into me, her hands resting on my belt buckle, giving it a little tug, saying, “Or, we can occupy our time with something a little more fun tonight.”