Page 175 of What We Break
Which means Blake has to be part of it. And whatever my difficulties with the guy, I would never ask Reid to choose. Those two are family. I just need to figure out how to be in the room.
I need to figure him out.
I grab the grocery bag from the passenger seat—everything I need for the pasta dish Reid loves—and head toward the house. Blake's workshop light is on in the distance, faint music carrying across the yard. Maybe he'll stay out there and I can avoid being alone with him entirely.
I've got to stop being such a chicken.
The front door's unlocked, which still surprises me sometimes. "There's nothing to steal," is all Reid said when I asked about it. Either way, it's handy for me. I've already got a spare key to my place cut for Reid, but I haven't actually given it to him yet. I trust him. He wouldn't misuse it. But it's another big step in a series of already big steps, and this one can wait a little while longer.
"Hello?" I set the groceries on the kitchen counter. "Blake? It's Laine."
No answer. Just like I expected.
I could wait inside for Reid. Start prepping dinner, make myself useful. But something pulls me toward the back door, toward the workshop. I'm curious about him. I'm also kind of afraid of what happens when I show up uninvited in his space.
There's that chicken thing again.
Okay. I'm doing this. I'm not going to hide in here.
The workshop door is propped open, and Blake's bent over a workbench, focused intently on something I can't see from the doorway. He's wearing an old t-shirt with holes in it, and there's dust in his dark hair. His hands move with precise, careful movements.
"Blake?" I call out over the music.
He looks up, startled, and for just a second his face is completely unguarded. Almost soft. Then he registers that it's me, and his expression shutters.
There it is. That look. Like he's disappointed it's me instead of Reid. God, being disliked really sucks. It's not that I'm not used to it. In some of the hospitals I worked at, the regular staff weren't particularly warm to me. I understood it though. Travel nurses came in, did whatever grunt work was needed, and got paid more than they did.
That didn't feel personal.
This does.
"Laine." He straightens up, wiping his hands on a rag. "Reid's not here."
"I know. He said six, but I was early." Avoiding that intense gaze of his, I step into the workshop, looking around. It's bigger than I expected, with work tables covered in tools I don't recognize and pieces of wood in various states of restoration. "I hope you don't mind me bothering you."
"It's fine." Blake reaches over and turns down the music. "He should be back soon."
But he doesn't ask me to leave, and he looks less guarded than usual. I'll take it. Anything but that sneer of his.
"Is this the Charleston mantel?" I ask, moving closer to his workbench.
Blake blinks. "How did you know about that?"
"Reid mentioned it. Said you finished the Boston one and started something new." I peer at the intricate carving he's working on—some kind of floral pattern with leaves and vines. "This is incredible."
"It's slow going. The original carving was damaged, so I'm having to recreate sections from old photographs." That cold guarded tone disappears. Suddenly his voice is animated, warm. "See this leaf pattern here? It was completely missing, but I found a picture of another mantel from the same craftsman, same period."
Oh. This is the Blake Reid talks about. The one who gets excited about history and craftsmanship. Kind of a geek. It's pretty darn attractive if I'm honest.
He reaches for a tool on the upper shelf, and his shirt rides up. I catch a glimpse of his stomach—not the lean, runner's build Reid has. Compact muscle, the kind that comes from years of physical labor rather than gym routines. A scar curves along his hip, disappearing into his waistband.
I look away quickly. Too quickly.
He's Reid's best friend. His roommate. His family.
It's just a body. I see them every day, and it's always clinical.
Except this isn't the hospital. And my face feels warm. There's a weird feeling in my stomach that has no business being there.
