Page 39 of On the Shelf
“That’s… a whole new kind of optimistic, coming from you.” Chuck rolled toward him to see whether Niall meant it.
“Could be you’re rubbing off on me.” Niall’s smile was soft in the darkness.
Chuck laughed and humped Niall’s leg with a grin. “Oh… I am one hundred percent rubbing off on you.”
Niall laughed and squirmed a bit. “Or could be I’m so tired of playing it safe all the time.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want to see where this goes. Despite the crap. Despite the risks.” Niall’s hand found Chuck’s. “One day at a time, like we agreed.”
“One day at a time,” Chuck echoed, squeezing Niall’s fingers. “I can do that.”
They settled back into comfortable silence, and Chuck thought about the treehouse, which had started as a favor and turned into joists bolted through the wall studs. A thing that would outlast the lease. The reason strangers drove up from San Francisco.
Maybe that’s what was happening here, between him and Niall. What had started as flirtation or lust, a way to pass time while he figured out his next move, was becoming something he wanted to build, something solid.
Six months ago that thought would have had him booking an Airbnb and driving all night for a midnight escape. But he pulled the blanket up over Niall’s shoulder and stayed.
Morning came too soon—sunlight through the curtains, Winnie banging the bathroom door, and no way back to sleep. They dressed quickly, sharing sleepy smiles and a couple gropes before they emerged from the bedroom to face the day.
Sunday breakfast was a family affair, with Winnie helping Niall make pancakes while Chuck set the table and brewed coffee. Funny how chill it felt. Chuck stashed the details, hoarding them—the chocolate chips Winnie insisted on adding to the batter, the easy rhythm of Niall flipping pancakes, the morning light making the kitchen glow rosy and close.
After breakfast they headed down to open the bookstore. Sunday was typically slow, Niall explained, which would give Chuck plenty of time to work on the treehouse. Winnie rattled with excitement, already planning which books she would read first in her new secret lair.
Chuck made steady progress on the treehouse branches while Niall handled the occasional customer and Winnie alternated between helping both of them. By late afternoon, the structure was taking shape—the trunk was anchored to the beam overhead and the corner walls, two of the three big branches were attached to the ceiling above and the shelves below, and the platform was ready to be lifted into place. It looked more like a telephone box with three arms resting on the bookcases, but it was definitely growing into a shape.
“It’s looking amazing.” Niall came to stand beside Chuck as he measured a four-by-four for the roof supports. “Winnie’s now officially spoiled forever. I’m screwed.”
“It’s coming together better than I expected,” Chuck admitted, pleased with his work. “Should be finished by next weekend.”
“No rush. It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”
Chuck bent over the board and measured a cut he’d already measured twice so Niall wouldn’t clock the grin. We. Niall had said we.
As the day wound down and they prepared to close the store, Chuck’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. He checked the screen, surprised to see a Seattle number he recognized.
“I should take this,” he told Niall as he stepped into the quiet of the office. “It’s my old boss.”
Niall nodded, and a flicker of something—concern? worry?—crossed his face before he turned back to the register.
Chuck answered the call with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. “Lloyd. This is unexpected.”
“Mitchum. Good to hear your voice.” Lloyd Rommel, head of the Seattle design firm Chuck had worked for, sounded as smooth and confident as ever. “How’s small-town life treating you?”
“Can’t complain. What can I do for you, Lloyd? I assume this isn’t a social call.”
“Always direct. I’ve missed that.” Lloyd chuckled. “Look, I’ll bottom line this for you. The Waterfront archive is back on. New developer, new vision, much more in line with your original concept for the cabinetry. The board asked for you by name, in particular, with urgency.”
Chuck blinked, caught off guard. “Me? After what happened?”
“Your little… outburst… has been reframed as passionate advocacy for design integrity. Very on-brand for our new eco-conscious clients.” Lloyd’s tone turned cajoling. “It’s a second chance, Chuck. A big one. Full creative control, substantial budget, your name front and center on the project.”
“I don’t know, Lloyd.” Chuck ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “I’m in the middle of a job here.”
“Whatever carpentry project you’re tinkering with in some grubby backwater can wait. This is career-defining work, Chuck. The kind that puts you on the map nationally. You wanted libraries. This will open all those doors.” Lloyd paused, then added his coup de grâce. “Plus, the pay will double what you were making before.”
Double. The figure Lloyd named made Chuck’s eyes widen. That kind of money would solve a lot of problems—for him, and potentially for Niall too. The bookstore could get a proper renovation, Winnie could have a college fund, they could have security….
