Chapter 3
What's a Girl Like You Doing in a Place Like This?
By noon, Jake had learned three important things.
Dust multiplies when observed.Old wood holds grudges.Manual labor is humbling in front of a woman who could bench-press tectonic plates.
He was shirtless.
Not intentionally.
His shirt had simply surrendered to sweat about an hour ago.
Sunlight poured through the kitchen windows as he scrubbed ancient cabinet doors with a determination bordering on theological.
Behind him, Kara stood on a step ladder, casually removing light fixtures.
Without breaking them.
Without denting the ladder.
Without accidentally lifting the ceiling.
It was infuriatingly impressive.
Jake wrung out his rag and leaned against the counter.
"Okay," he said, trying to sound casual despite breathing like a malfunctioning accordion, "serious question."
"Mmm?" she replied, entirely composed.
"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
She paused mid-adjustment.
The ladder creaked.
But only normally.
"What kind of girl am I?" she asked lightly.
He wiped sweat from his neck.
"The kind who doesn't need to worry about splinters."
She smiled faintly.
"That's vague."
He gestured broadly.
"You're educated. Polished. You clearly don't need a rural estate management job forty minutes from a city where bank robberies are apparently lunch break entertainment."
She climbed down from the ladder gracefully.
Too gracefully.
He pretended not to notice.
"I was asked," she said simply.
"By my grandfather."
"Yes."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the one I'm giving."
Jake squinted at her.
She held his gaze evenly.
Mild.
Pleasant.
Entirely unreadable.
He sighed.
"Right. Secretive country girl with impeccable posture. Got it."
She tilted her head.
"You don't believe me."
"Oh, I believe you're pretending."
A beat.
Her lips curved.
"And you're pretending not to know something."
His spine stiffened.
Danger.
Careful.
"I just read a lot," he said quickly.
"That's usually how people know things."
He nodded.
"Yes. Reading. Harmless reading. Definitely nothing concerning."
Her eyes narrowed just slightly.
"Concerning?"
He coughed.
Abort topic.
Abort topic immediately.
Because in his old world—
Kara had been—
Well.
Let's just say she had been a frequent character in certain bookmarked folders.
Certain "what if" scenarios.
Certain fanfictions he had absolutely not deleted before falling asleep on his laptop more than once.
And that one manga—
8th Wonder.
He shut his eyes briefly.
Red and blue costumes.
Strategic rips.
MILF predecessor and equally devastating successor.
Blonde.
Blue eyes.
Absolutely illegal levels of fictional fitness.
Note to self: if cosmic entities have search history access, repent immediately.
He opened his eyes.
Kara was watching him.
Amused.
"You look like you just remembered something embarrassing."
"I remembered taxes," he lied.
"That's very mature of you."
He cleared his throat and grabbed a broom.
"So. You were asked to manage the estate. That's a long-term commitment."
"Yes."
"Why accept it?"
She looked past him, out the window, toward the fields.
Her expression softened.
"Your grandfather believed in second chances," she said quietly. "And fresh starts."
Jake paused.
"Second chance from what?"
She hesitated.
Just a fraction.
"In this city… people wear masks," she said. "Some literal. Some not. It gets loud."
"And this place isn't loud."
"No. It's honest."
He studied her more carefully now.
Not as an icon.
Not as a fantasy.
But as a person.
"You wanted quiet," he said.
"Something like that."
"And Lolo offered it."
"He offered purpose."
That landed.
Jake leaned the broom against the counter.
"I didn't know him well," he admitted. "He died when I was young."
"I know."
"He seems…" Jake gestured vaguely toward the portrait in the hallway. "…busy."
Kara laughed softly.
"That's one word."
Jake scratched the back of his neck.
"In my world," he said slowly, choosing each word carefully, "people like you were… symbols."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Symbols."
"Hope. Strength. Big speeches. Very dramatic lighting."
She blinked.
"That's oddly specific."
"I told you. I read."
She stepped closer.
Not invading.
Just… near.
"And what did you think of those symbols?"
He swallowed.
Honesty.
Careful honesty.
"I admired them," he said. "But I also… reduced them. Turned them into stories. Fantasies. Easier to consume than understand."
Her expression changed.
Not offended.
Curious.
"And now?"
"Now I have to actually talk to one while covered in drywall dust."
She laughed.
Not superhero laughter.
Just… normal.
Warm.
"You're adjusting surprisingly well."
"I'm panicking internally."
"I can tell."
He blinked.
"You can?"
"No."
She smiled innocently.
He exhaled slowly.
"Okay. My turn to be honest."
She folded her arms.
"Go on."
"I don't know how this world works yet. I don't know what's normal here. I don't know what my grandfather was to you. And I don't know what I'm supposed to be."
She didn't interrupt.
"I'm not him," Jake continued. "I don't have… whatever he had."
She looked him up and down once.
Slowly.
Not objectifying.
Assessing.
"You have potential," she said.
"That's code for 'currently inadequate.'"
"It's code for 'worth investing in.'"
The words hit harder than they should have.
Jake felt heat rise to his face — and not from the sun.
He turned away quickly and picked up a hammer.
"Well. Investment starts with structural integrity."
He walked toward the back door.
Kara followed.
Outside, the barn loomed.
Wind rolled through the fields again.
This time, the grass shifted more noticeably.
Alive.
Waiting.
Jake stopped at the barn entrance.
He looked at her.
"Last question."
"Yes?"
"If I fall through the roof, are you going to catch me?"
She adjusted her glasses.
Entirely too innocent.
"If I were capable of that, Mr. Calison, I'd certainly consider it."
He snorted.
"Right. Of course. Totally normal."
He stepped inside the barn.
Sunlight streamed through broken slats.
Dust motes floated.
It smelled like old hay and possibility.
Jake picked up a wooden beam.
Hefted it.
Heavy.
Doable.
He braced it against the support frame.
Muscles straining.
Arms shaking.
Kara stood nearby.
Watching.
Not helping.
Not interfering.
Just… there.
After a long, grinding effort—
The beam locked into place.
Stable.
Jake stepped back.
Breathing hard.
Sweat running down his chest.
He wiped his face with his forearm.
"Okay," he muttered. "One beam at a time."
Kara's voice was softer now.
"That's how foundations are built."
He looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Not as a symbol.
Not as a fantasy.
But as a woman standing in a dusty barn, choosing to be here.
"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked again.
This time, quieter.
She met his gaze.
"Waiting," she said.
"For what?"
"For you to decide what kind of man you're going to be."
The wind shifted.
The barn door creaked.
And somewhere deep within the mansion—
A door unlocked with a faint, deliberate click.
End of Chapter 3.
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