“It is,” he said, quickly. “This isn’t that. It’s… the water line. I shut the main off like the town advisory said. I’m using space heaters away from anything flammable. I’m being careful.”
That last part sounded rehearsed, like he knew people would accuse him of being careless.
He looked down. “But I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
I should’ve said, Not my problem.
I should’ve said, Call someone.
But I also knew the storm had knocked half the county sideways. Nobody was coming fast. And even if someone did, I wasn’t letting a kid go without water because of my pride.
I sighed like it hurt, because it did.
“Alright,” I said. “Show me.”
Liam’s shoulders dropped with relief so visible it almost made me angry.
Sophie hugged her rabbit tighter.
And just like that, I was trespassing again—this time in daylight.
His house smelled like cinnamon and something floral. Clean. New.
My house smells like coffee and old wood and the ghost of my wife’s hand lotion, if I’m being honest.
I didn’t say that out loud.
He led me through a hallway where framed art hung—bright colors, abstract shapes. The kind of stuff that looks like a toddler spilled paint, but apparently costs money.
A small table by the entry held a bowl of keys and a stack of children’s books.
One of the books had a picture of a bear hugging a fox.
I didn’t know why that bothered me.
Maybe because I suddenly saw how hard Liam was trying to build a softer world for his kid.
A world where everyone hugged.
And I didn’t know how to live in that world without feeling like somebody was trying to take my spine away.
He opened a hatch in the floor and gestured down into the crawlspace.
I crouched and felt my knees complain.
“Careful,” Liam said, like I was made of glass.
“I’m not dead,” I muttered.
The air down there hit my face like a refrigerator.
I shined a flashlight along the pipes.
Sure enough—frost. Ice like white rope around metal.
“Okay,” I said. “You did right shutting the main. Now we thaw it slow. No open flames. No shortcuts.”
He nodded fast, like he’d been waiting for permission to breathe.
Sophie hovered in the doorway, watching.
I could feel her eyes on my back. Curious. Afraid. Both.
While we worked, Liam kept glancing at his phone like it was buzzing.
Finally I said, “Turn it off.”
He looked up. “What?”
“Your phone,” I said. “Turn it off. The pipes don’t care what people are typing.”
His cheeks flushed.
He slid it into his pocket like a scolded kid.
We set up warm air carefully, moved it slowly along the line.
Minutes passed.
Then, from upstairs, there was a small sound—like someone set a cup down too hard.
Sophie had climbed onto a chair at the kitchen island. She was watching through the open hatch like she was at a magic show.
Liam glanced up at her, then back at me.
“She thinks you’re… kind of a superhero,” he said quietly.
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