A Love Between Steps

Their parents had married six weeks ago. That made Theo her stepbrother, a word that still felt too large and too personal in her mind. She preferred stranger. A stranger could be ignored. A stranger did not know how she took her tea, or that she counted boxes twice when anxious, or that she had cried in the bathroom after the wedding because everyone kept calling them a family.

Theo reached the landing and nudged past her.

“Where does this go?”

“Library.”

He glanced at the open doorway behind her. “That room is full.”

“Then don’t put it there.”

“Excellent plan. Where should I put it?”

Mara stepped aside, angry at the question because she had no answer. The house had been built into the cliff in uneven levels. Its rooms connected by half-flights and twisting corridors, as if the architect had changed his mind every few feet. The front door opened onto a narrow hall. The kitchen sat below it. The bedrooms were above, reached by stairs so steep Mara had already bruised one knee against the wall.

“Leave it under the window,” she said.

Theo set the box down under the window.

Not left. Set.

He did everything with an infuriating care that made her feel careless by comparison.

A gust drove rain through the open door. Mara pushed it shut, but the latch failed to catch. The house shuddered around them.

Theo looked at the door. “That seems important.”

“I know.”

“You want me to fix it?”

“No.”

“Because you have a plan?”

“Because I can manage a door.”

His mouth tilted. “You’ve been managing it for nearly a minute.”

She turned the handle again. The latch slipped back with a dull click. Outside, the wind roared over the cliff and sent a sheet of rain across the windows.

Theo moved beside her. His sleeve brushed hers, wet fabric against her arm. The contact was brief, ordinary, and far too noticeable.

“Move,” he said.

“I am moving.”

“You’re standing in front of the problem.”

“I’m standing in front of the door.”

“Same thing, apparently.”

She glared at him, but he had already crouched. He pulled a small folding knife from his pocket and wedged the blade into the latch plate.

“You carry a knife?”

“For boxes.”

“That is not what it is for.”

“Today it is.”

He worked the metal loose, his fingers quick and steady. Mara watched despite herself. A strand of wet hair had fallen over his forehead. He pushed it back with the back of his wrist, leaving a dark streak across his skin.

“You’re enjoying this,” she said.

“Fixing a door?”

“Being right.”

“I’m not enjoying that nearly as much as you think.”

The latch sprang into place. Theo rose, tested the handle, then leaned his shoulder against the door until it held.

“There,” he said. “You can go back to managing everything.”

Mara looked at the repaired latch. “Thank you.”

The words cost her more than they should have.

His expression changed, just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

The truck driver shouted from below.

Mara opened the door again, this time only a crack. “The red trunk first,” she called. “Then the boxes marked bedroom. Nothing gets stacked near the stairs.”

Theo lifted the trunk before the driver could reach it.

“That weighs more than you do,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

He carried it up without asking where it went. Mara followed, one hand on the wall for balance. The stairs narrowed at the turn, forcing them close. Theo’s shoulder brushed hers. The trunk scraped the plaster, and he stopped so suddenly she nearly walked into him.

“Hold on,” he said.

“I have been holding on.”

“To the wall, maybe.”

He shifted the trunk higher. “The landing is slick.”

Mara looked down. Rainwater had pooled on the boards beneath the open skylight. Theo placed one boot across the wet patch and reached for the trunk’s other handle.

“On three,” he said.

“I can lift.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Then don’t order me around.”

“Fine. We’ll drop it together.”

She stared at him.

His eyes were gray, like the water below. “One,” he said.

“Theo.”

“Two.”

She seized the handle.

“Three.”

They lifted. The trunk swung, heavy and awkward, but they got it onto the landing. Mara’s fingers slipped. Theo caught the trunk with one hand and her wrist with the other.

For a second, she was pressed against him, her palm flat to his chest. Beneath her hand, his breathing changed.

So did hers.

“Careful,” he said, quieter now.

Mara pulled away. “I was.”

“I know.”

The rain hammered the roof. Somewhere below, a window rattled in its frame.

She looked toward the hall. “We need to bring in the rest.”

Theo released her wrist. His fingers had left a warm band across her skin.

“You say that like the storm is waiting for permission.”

“It’s not.”

At the front door, the moving truck driver shook his head. “Road’s flooding by the bend. I’m taking the truck back before it gets worse.”

“But there are still boxes.”

“Your parents can come for them tomorrow.”

“My parents aren’t here.”

“They should be.”

Mara glanced at the harbor. The road down the cliff was already veiled by rain. Her mother had gone with Daniel to collect groceries in town. They had promised to return before the weather turned. The promise now felt thin.

Theo came to stand beside her. “How many?”

“Seven boxes. My desk chair. The mirror.”

The driver pointed toward the truck. “You have maybe fifteen minutes.”

Mara stepped outside.

Theo caught her elbow. “The path is slippery.”

“I’m not made of glass.”

“No. You’re made of bad decisions.”

She looked down at his hand. He let go at once.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll get them.”

“I’m not letting you decide what happens to my things.”

“Then come with me.”

They crossed the path together, bent into the wind. Rain struck Mara’s face like thrown sand. The harbor had vanished behind a curtain of gray. Each step on the wet stones demanded care, and the truck rocked slightly above them, its metal sides groaning.

Inside, the remaining boxes had shifted. One had split open, spilling books across the floor.

Mara dropped to her knees. “My journals.”

Theo crouched beside her and gathered the books before the water could reach them. “These?”

She snatched the first one from his hand. The cover was stained, but the pages were dry.

“Don’t read them.”

“I can’t read through the cover.”

“You know what I mean.”

His gaze stayed on her face. “I do.”

He handed her the rest without looking down. That small courtesy struck deeper than it should have.

They worked fast. Mara tied the journals into a canvas bag while Theo dragged the desk chair toward the ramp. The truck lurched beneath them.

“Stop,” he said.

“I’m almost done.”

“The driver’s moving.”

Mara looked out. The man had climbed into the cab. The engine growled.

“Wait!” She grabbed the mirror.

Theo reached for the other side. “Leave it.”

“No.”

“It’s cracked already.”

“It belonged to my father.”

The words came out sharper than she intended. Her father’s house had been sold after his death, room by room emptied by people who called it practical. The mirror was the last thing she had kept because its dark glass still held a faint reflection of the hallway where he used to stand.

Theo’s grip loosened. “All right.”

The truck rolled.

They carried the mirror together down the ramp as rain swept across the ground. Mara’s shoes slid. Theo shifted closer, taking most of the weight.

“Left,” he called.

“I know where left is.”

“Then use it.”

She almost laughed, which annoyed her more than his insult. They reached the path, but a branch cracked above them. Theo looked up.

“Inside. Now.”

He pulled her toward the house. The mirror tilted between them. Mara stumbled on the slick stones, and Theo caught her around the waist.

The branch fell behind them with a hard, splintering crash.

For a moment, neither moved.

His arm held her firmly. Her hands rested against his ribs. Rainwater ran from his hair onto her cheek. She could feel the heat of him even through their soaked clothes.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“I’m looking.”

His face was close. Too close. His eyes moved over her as if checking for blood, and the concern there was not teasing, not impatient. It unsettled her.

“I said I’m fine,” she whispered.

His arm remained around her for one second longer than necessary. Then he stepped back.

“Good.”

They got the mirror inside. Theo pushed the door closed while Mara held it steady, and together they leaned against it until the repaired latch caught.

The house went quiet except for the storm.

Mara set the canvas bag on the floor. Her hands shook. She hid them by folding her arms.

Theo noticed anyway. “You can sit.”

“I don’t need to.”

“You almost fell.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I heard you.”

He walked to the kitchen and returned with a towel. Instead of handing it to her, he draped it over her shoulders.

The gesture was so gentle that her anger lost its shape.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Doing what?”

“Acting as if we’re…” She stopped.

Family, she thought. Friends. Something that could be named.

Theo’s expression closed. “Because the weather is awful and you’re cold.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No,” he said. “It isn’t.”

Thunder rolled across the cliff. Mara looked toward the windows. The sky had darkened to evening, though it was barely afternoon.

A sharp knock came from the front door.

Both of them turned.

Theo checked the latch. The road below had disappeared beneath runoff, and the house stood alone above the harbor, cut off from the town by water and fallen branches.

He returned to her. “No one’s getting up here tonight.”

Mara looked at the boxes, the dripping coats, the mirror leaning against the wall. Their parents were still gone. The house had too many rooms, too many doors, and only one working fire.

“Then we need to make a list,” she said.

Theo gave a tired breath that might have been a laugh. “Of course we do.”

She picked up a dry notebook from the nearest box. “You can sleep in the library.”

“It has no bed.”

“Then the sofa.”

“The sofa is full of your blankets.”

“Move them.”

He watched her open the notebook. “And you?”

“The room at the top.”

“The one with the broken window?”

She looked up.

Theo nodded toward the stairs. “I checked it earlier. Wind comes straight through.”

Mara hated that he had checked. Hated more that he was right.

“Then I’ll take the sofa.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t get to decide.”

“No.” He glanced toward the dark windows, then back at her. “But I can keep watch downstairs until your parents return.”

“They won’t return tonight.”

“I know.”

The words settled between them.

Mara pressed the notebook against her chest. She had wanted Theo to remain a stranger. Strangers did not carry your father’s mirror through a storm. They did not remember which room had the broken window. They did not look at you as if being afraid was something they could help you survive.

“I’m still not calling you family,” she said.

Theo’s mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. “I didn’t ask you to.”

The fire snapped in the parlor. Outside, the road vanished completely beneath the rain.

Mara looked at the sofa, then at the stairs leading to the dark upper rooms. “Stay downstairs,” she said.

Theo nodded.

She took one step toward the stairs, then stopped. “And don’t touch my boxes.”

“I won’t.”

A pause.

“Unless they fall.”

“Then catch them.”

“I will.”

Mara climbed, listening to his footsteps move toward the fire. The house groaned around them, steep and unfamiliar, while the storm sealed every path back to town.

She had gotten her belongings inside.

She had not kept Theo outside her life.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 10,893 words in the full book.