Chapter Text
Juliette-Builder:
Yesterday we had our first Sandstorm of this season. It took me by surprise. I didn't know they could get so intense. But it makes sense, Sandrock barely has vegetation to protect it.
I woke up earlier than usual, I wanted to make my way around town, see if there was anything for me to fix.
I got ready, tools in hand and walked outside, it all looked a mess, but what first caught my attention was right outside the Blue Moon.
Owen, the owner of the Blue Moon was right there, looking distressed.
"My beautiful stage" I heard him say as I got closer. He really was distressed about some stage. Good grief, I really thought something really bad happened.
"Now, now, at least no one was hurt, we can always rebuild..." Matilda said, trying to console him.
As soon as I heard the word rebuild, I started walking away, let them go through the guild, I thought. Someone probably needed help with something actually important. As I tried to sneak off silently, Matilda, The Minister and I guess Mayor for the time being caught me.
"Say, speak of the devil, if it isn't our resident Builders here to save the day!"
Fuck, I thought. I was too slow.
It's not that I didn't care, it's that I didn't think it should take priority over actually helping people. And Owen, I don't know, he kind of rubbed me the wrong way.
Sure, he's handsome as hell, but he always has that smile. It makes me uneasy, and I get that he has to be like that for his business. But when someone comes at you still behaving like that every time you meet them, it just weirds you out. Or at least it weirds me out. I prefer honesty, no need to be rude or anything, but honesty over fake politeness.
Anyway, time to deal with it.
"Hello Minister Matilda, what can I help you with?"
"We're in a real jam here. We wanted to do a stage performance for Mason's going away ceremony, but the stage collapsed. Would you be a dear and find a way to fix it up?"
I hesitated for a moment; she must've felt it.
"I know you must be very busy with other commissions, but we really want to send him off properly. So I must insist on an official town request of the highest priority!"
"Fine, but I will need some blueprints"
"Heidi, can you work on some blueprints for the builder here?"
"I already have, this stage was already on its last legs last year, I've been ready for it to collapse at any moment, here you go" Heidi says, as she hands me some blueprints.
Clear as ever, she always did a good job.
"Perfect, now, the stage has two parts, decide the order yourself and get to work on it. Let me know how it goes. Good luck and thanks," Matilda said as she walked away.
Heidi went on her way too as I observed what needed to be done, the stage support and the backdrop. I guess I should work on the support first. I was looking at the blueprints when Owen approached me.
"By the way, if you need it, you can go ahead and salvage this here stage. Stagey... would've wanted it that way."
"Stagey? You named it?"
"All stages have a name, of course I did"
"Okay...well, thanks, and yes, I will salvage it. It will actually save me a lot of time and work."
"Good. Try to build something nice with the scrap you get from it, would you? She wasn't much, but, she always did her best"
She? He made his stage a woman?...Fine, I guess.
"I'll do my best"
Owen walks away and I take my time disassembling the stage. It takes me a while. When I'm done, I notice I barely need extra materials. I was writing down what I needed when he approached.
"Howdy, builder" Owen greeted "thought I should bring you something to snack and drink"
He gives me my favorite puffs. He remembered...
"Thanks, and by the way, my name is Juliette, not builder, I would appreciate it if you'd use my name from now on" I said, not trying to be rude, but I don't like it when they just address me as builder, as if that's all I am.
"Apologies...Juliette, will make sure I do that from now on"
There was something about the way my name sounded coming out of his mouth that just made my stomach turn. I'm not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.I brushed it off for the moment.
"The stage will be done sooner than I thought, thanks to the scrap I have almost everything I need. I'll be on my way, and thanks for the snacks"
I start walking away and he basically runs behind me. Making me stop when he suddenly steps in front of me.
"Need something, cowboy?"
"You don't like me, do you?" He asked, and for the first time he didn't have that huge grin he sports regularly.
"What do you mean? I don't know you enough not to like you..." I mean, technically true, and it's not that I don't like him anyway, he just rubs me the wrong way.
"Sure, then why do you barely speak to me at all? I can see the eye rolls, you know, you literally just gave me one right now"
Damn it. I didn't even notice I did that.
"Did I? It's nothing personal, I don't dislike you, but I don't like you either, you are a stranger to me, and I don't think I owe you an explanation, do I?"
"I guess you don't...but people usually like me. Did I do something wrong over here?"
"I am not other people, why do I have to act the same as everyone?. And again, I don't dislike you... I just don't know you, now, if that's all. I need to get working. Feel free to leave."
"Sure..."
I walked away and made my way to the storage chest as he still stood there.
"Are you planning on staying there all day?" I finally asked after I noticed he was just loitering around, now leaning on my fence.
"Maybe, until you tell me the truth"
"Can't you go bother the artist, the one you're so obsessed with instead of me?" I asked, every single conversation we had from the day I got here he always mentioned her.
He finally pushed himself off my fence, but he didn't leave. He just stood there, a few feet away, hands in his pockets, staring at me.
It wasn't his usual empty gaze, the one that made me feel like he was looking through me. This one was… intense. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle, and I was it.
It made my skin prickle, not in a bad way, exactly, but in an unsettling, electric sort of way. My stomach did that weird little flutter-flip again. Ugh.
"Is that what you think? That I'm bothering you?" His voice was low, completely devoid of that booming, cheerful politeness he usually put on. It was just… him. And for some reason, that was more unsettling than anything else. Like seeing a different side of a familiar, irritating coin.
I turned my back to him, busying myself with pulling out some copper plates from my storage chest.
"I think you're still standing in my yard when I'm clearly trying to work, Owen." I didn't mean for my voice to be quite so sharp, but the combination of his intensity and that weird feeling in my gut was making me a little edgy.
A beat of silence. I could still feel his eyes on my back, burning into me. It was… uncomfortable. And yet, part of me, a tiny, annoying part, was curious. What was he going to say? What was he thinking?.
Stop it, Juliette, he's just being weird I told myself, trying to push the thoughts away.
"I just... I don't understand why you're so different." His voice was closer now. Too close. I stiffened, not turning around. "Everyone else... they're easy to talk to. They smile, they laugh. You just... frown."
I sighed, a long, exasperated sound. I grabbed the last of the copper, then turned, finally facing him, though I kept my expression carefully neutral.
"Because I have work to do, Owen. And I'm not here to be 'easy to talk to' or to entertain you. My job is to build things. To help the town when they actually need help. Not to rebuild a stage that you named 'Stage-y' and mourn like it's a person." My words were clipped, perhaps a little harsher than necessary, but I was so over this conversation.
He looked… genuinely taken aback. His usual practiced smile was nowhere to be seen, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. His eyes, though, still held that intense, searching look.
"Right," he said, slowly. "Right. I get it." He didn't sound like he got it at all. He sounded… thoughtful. And a little wounded. And that was even more unsettling. I didn't want him to be wounded! I just wanted him to leave!
He turned, slowly, and this time he actually walked away. Not running, not jogging, just a slow, measured walk back towards the Blue Moon.
I watched him go, a strange mix of relief and… something else. Something I couldn't quite name. That weird stomach flutter was still there, a tiny, annoying butterfly trapped inside.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. Focus, Juliette. Stage support. I looked down at the blueprints again, trying to push Owen, his strange questions, and my even stranger reactions out of my mind. It was just a weird interaction. Nothing more. Nothing to think about. Just… work.
I made my way to the salvage yard and worked through the day to get some of the materials I need. According to the blueprints I didn't need much. Specially not after I’d salvaged so much from the old stage.
The rest of the week was a blur of sawing, hammering, and the satisfying clunk of parts slotting into place at my Assembly Station. I focused on the task, blocking out everything else. The rhythmic work was a good distraction from… well, from that unsettling conversation.
I also noticed that as I worked that Owen constantly placed snacks and drinks around without a word,probably thinking I didn't see him. I took them,but for some reason they unsettled me even more. He keeps being nice. Weirdly, I found my eyes drifting to him for unknown reasons when he thought he was trying to be sneaky about it. He doesn't know how he attracts attention without even trying, that's how big his personality is...Anyway,that doesn't matter.
I kept working and finally, the new stage was complete. It looked sturdy, even elegant, a vast improvement over the rickety original. I wiped sweat from my brow, admiring my handiwork. Us builders tend to get attached to our creations, and this one felt particularly satisfying.
Just as I was packing up my tools, Owen appeared. He wasn't smiling his usual broad, annoying grin. Instead, his expression was softer, almost… reverent. He walked around the stage, touching the smooth wood of the railing, running a hand over the freshly polished backdrop. His eyes, for once, weren't fixed on me, but on the stage itself.
"She's beautiful, Juliette," he said, his voice quiet. He used my name, correctly, and this time, the stomach flutter was still there, but it felt… less alarming. More like a tiny skip. "More beautiful than Stagey ever was, honestly. You really outdid yourself."
He turned to me, and that intensity was back in his eyes, but it was tinged with genuine gratitude. "Thank you. Really. It means a lot." he said.
Seeing him like this, so genuinely pleased and earnest, made a tiny pang of something I recognized as guilt twist in my chest. My earlier words about him "mourning like it's a person" had been harsh, especially now seeing how much this really did mean to him. He clearly cared deeply about his establishment, and that included his stages.
I fidgeted with a wrench in my hand, looking at the ground.
"Yeah, well," I mumbled, clearing my throat. "I mean, it was an official town commission, highest priority and all that. So… duty calls." I paused, then glanced up at him, just for a second. "And, uh… I guess I didn't really get it before. About… Stage-y. It's clear you cared a lot about it. So… my bad, I guess."
My words felt clumsy, unpracticed. It wasn't a full-blown apology, but it was as close as I was going to get.
He just looked at me, that intense gaze softening even further. A small, genuine smile, just a hint of it, touched the corners of his lips. It wasn't the fake business smile. It was his smile. And for the first time, it didn't make my stomach churn in an unpleasant way. It just… was. And that, in itself, was unsettling. And new.
"No worries, Juliette," he said, his voice still soft. "I appreciate you saying that. Really." He nodded slowly, then turned back to the stage, looking at it with a quiet pride that was almost… endearing.
I quickly gathered the last of my tools, feeling a strange mix of awkwardness and a tiny, almost imperceptible warmth spreading through me.
Okay, that's done. Time to go. I needed to get away from this new, confusing version of Owen, and these new, confusing feelings.
As I walked away, the setting sun casting long shadows behind me, my mind wouldn't quiet down. What just happened? Me, apologizing to Owen? Even a tiny, half-baked one. It felt… foreign. But seeing his face, genuinely appreciative of the stage, genuinely wounded by my earlier jab… it had poked something in me. A sliver of guilt, maybe, or just the realization that I had misjudged him a little. He wasn't just some endlessly cheerful, fake barkeep. He actually cared. Deeply.
And that smile. When he gave that real, soft smile, it did something to that weird stomach flutter. It didn't feel bad or annoying anymore. It felt… like a little electric current, warming my insides. Like a tiny, unexpected spark.
Ugh. What was that? I quickly tried to push the thought away. Probably just fatigue from building the stage. Yeah, that had to be it. My body was tired, and my brain was misfiring.
I got back to my workshop, the familiar smells of wood and metal a comfort. I dropped my tools onto the workbench with a clatter, but my mind was still replaying his quiet voice, his genuine "Thank you." And then his "I appreciate you saying that." He didn't mock me for my awkwardness. He just accepted it. That was… surprisingly nice. And unnerving.
I usually preferred people to be predictable. Owen was proving to be anything but. First, he confronts me about not liking him. Then he shows genuine emotion about his stage. Then he accepts my clumsy attempt at an apology with a real smile that makes my stomach do weird things. It was a lot to process.
Just focus on work, Juliette, I told myself sternly, heading towards my commission board. He's just… Owen. And I'm just… the Builder. Nothing more. Nothing to get worked up about.
But even as I said it, a tiny part of me knew it was a lie. Something had shifted today. And I had a sneaking suspicion Owen knew it too.
Owen:
The Sandstorm had been brutal. I'd ridden out plenty of them, but this one felt different, angrier. The wind howled like a desert ghoul, rattling the Blue Moon's foundations. All night, I'd worried about the stage. Stagey. My beautiful, dependable Stagey. She’d seen so many performances, so many laughs, so many quiet evenings. She was more than just wood and nails; she was a part of the Blue Moon, a part of Sandrock’s heart.
As soon as the winds died down to a tolerable roar and the dust began to settle, I rushed outside. My heart sank. Just as I feared. The entire stage had buckled, a mangled mess of splintered wood and torn fabric. "My beautiful stage," I murmured, a genuine ache in my chest. It felt like losing an old friend.
Matilda was there almost instantly, her calm presence a stark contrast to my distress. "Now, now, at least no one was hurt, we can always rebuild..." she said, trying to console me.
Her words were kind, but they didn't really touch the raw disappointment I felt. It wasn't just about rebuilding; it was about the loss.
Then I saw her. The Builder. Juliette. She was walking by, tools in hand, already surveying the town's damage with that focused, almost intense gaze she always had. I'd noticed her around town, of course. Hard to miss. She was efficient, always busy, and frankly, a bit of a mystery. Most people in Sandrock were an open book after a few conversations, but not her. She kept herself apart, always working, always a little… unreadable.
As soon as Matilda mentioned "rebuild," I saw her shoulders stiffen, and she started trying to sneak away. A small, almost imperceptible turn, a shift in her weight, but I saw it. I always seemed to notice her, even when she probably wished I wouldn't. Just as she was about to make her escape, Matilda, bless her, spotted her.
"Say, speak of the devil, if it isn't our resident Builders here to save the day!"
A wave of relief washed over me. Juliette was the best builder in Sandrock, maybe even beyond. If anyone could fix Stagey, it was her. But then I saw the fleeting, almost imperceptible flicker of annoyance cross her face. Her eyes, just for a second, seemed to roll. Not outwardly, not rudely, but a subtle shift that only someone watching closely would catch. She doesn't want to do this, I thought. Why?
She approached Matilda, polite but reserved.
"Hello Minister Matilda, what can I help you with?" Her voice was even, professional. It was the voice she used for everyone, a polite wall she put up. I wondered if she ever let that wall down.
Matilda explained the situation, the collapsed stage, Mason's farewell. Juliette hesitated, just for a moment, and I felt a twinge of disappointment. This was important to me, to the town. Why the reluctance?
Then Matilda used the "highest priority" card, and Juliette's shoulders slumped ever so slightly. "Fine,but I need some blueprints." Resignation. She wasn't happy about it, but she'd do it.
Heidi was already prepared, of course. She handed over the blueprints, and Juliette immediately immersed herself in them, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked completely absorbed, like the world outside the lines of the paper had ceased to exist. It was admirable, that focus. But it also felt like another barrier.
I knew she'd need materials, and the old stage was salvageable. Plus, I had to try and connect with her. Everyone liked me, or at least they were polite. Why was she so different? I walked over, trying to keep my usual pleasant demeanor, but also wanting to offer something useful.
"By the way, if you need it, you can go ahead and salvage this here stage. Stagey... would've wanted it that way."
She looked up, a hint of confusion in her eyes. "Stagey? You named it?"
"All stages have a name, of course I did." I tried to sound light, charming. I genuinely believed it. Every important thing deserved a name.
"Okay, well, thanks, and yes, I will salvage it. It will actually save me a lot of time and work." Her tone was practical, appreciative of the efficiency. She didn't dwell on the "naming" part, just the utility. That was her, always practical.
"Good. Try to build something nice with the scrap you get from it, would you? She wasn't much, but, she always did her best." I wanted her to know Stagey was special. A gentle reminder that even a stage could have a story. I saw a flicker in her eyes, a slight furrow of her brow. She was probably thinking I was odd. Most people found it endearing, but she… she was different.
I watched her begin to disassemble the old stage. She worked quickly, efficiently, her movements precise. She seemed completely at home with her tools, a master of her craft. It was… impressive. And captivating. I found myself just watching her for a while, lost in thought.
After a bit, I decided to try again. Maybe she was just focused on work. Everyone appreciated a thoughtful gesture, right? I headed back inside the Blue Moon, grabbed a couple of her favorite snacks. The berry puffs she sometimes ordered and a cool glass of water.
"Howdy, builder," I greeted, approaching her as she was writing something down. "Thought I should bring you something to snack and drink." I offered them with my most reassuring smile.
She took them, but her expression didn't soften. "Thanks, and by the way, my name is Juliette, not builder, I would appreciate it if you'd use my name from now on." Her voice was firm, polite but uncompromising. It wasn't rude, not at all, but it was a clear boundary.
My smile faltered. Her name. She wanted me to use her name. Why hadn't I? I used everyone else's name. But with her, it felt like she was always "the Builder," a force of nature, an enigma. A quick correction formed on my lips.
"Apologies... Juliette, will make sure I do that from now on." I tried the name out, letting it roll off my tongue. Juliette. It felt… soft. Different.
"The stage will be done sooner than I thought, thanks to the scrap I have almost everything I need. I'll be on my way, and thanks for the snacks." She said and then turned, clearly trying to dismiss me, trying to leave. She was always trying to leave. It was frustrating.
I couldn't let her go just yet. Not when I was so close to figuring her out, or at least understanding why she was so hard to understand. I hurried after her, blocking her path just before she reached her yard.
"Need something, cowboy?" she asked, her tone dry, almost sarcastic. It was a challenge. And for some reason, I found myself compelled to meet it.
"You don't like me, do you?" The question just slipped out, raw and unguarded. For the first time in a while, I dropped the smile. I needed to know. The constant polite distance, the subtle eye rolls… it had been gnawing at me.
She blinked, surprised. That surprised me too. "What do you mean? I don't know you enough not to like you..." She tried to brush it off, to be diplomatic. But it felt hollow.
"Sure, then why do you barely speak to me at all? I can see the eye rolls, you know, you literally just gave me one right now." I pressed, a little desperate for an honest answer. Her face flushed slightly. Aha.
"Did I? It's nothing personal, I don't dislike you, but I don't like you either, you are a stranger to me, and I don't think I owe you an explanation, do I?" She fired back, her words sharp, like tiny little daggers. But they didn't really hurt. They just made me more curious. She was honest, at least. Brutally honest.
"I guess you don't...but people usually like me. Did I do something wrong over here?" I needed to understand. Had I offended her? Had I done something wrong without realizing it? I prided myself on making people feel comfortable. She made me feel… anything but.
'I am not other people, why do I have to act the same as everyone?. And again, I don't dislike you... I just don't know you, now, if that's all. I need to get working. Feel free to leave."
She was dismissing me. Again. Her eyes were hard, her stance uncompromising. She was a wall, and I was just bouncing off it.
"Sure..." I said, defeated for a moment. But I didn't leave. I couldn't. I just stood there, watching her walk away towards her storage chest. I leaned against her fence, trying to process. She was so… different. And that difference was utterly fascinating. Most people wanted to connect, to be friendly. She seemed to actively avoid it.
"Are you planning on staying there all day?" she asked, without even looking at me, her voice exasperated.
"Maybe, until you tell me the truth." I tried to push her, just a little. I wanted to break through that wall.
"Can't you go bother the artist, the one you're so obsessed with instead of me?" Her voice was laced with something sharp, almost like... jealousy? No, probably just annoyance.
But the artist? Amirah? What was she talking about? I always spoke highly of Amirah's artistic talent, commissioning pieces for the Blue Moon, sure, but "obsessed"? That was an odd jump. It meant Juliette had noticed how often I mentioned Amirah, enough to form that impression. This was another layer to the puzzle.
I pushed myself off the fence, but I didn't leave. She was right there, trying to organize her materials, and I just… stared. She clearly thought I was annoying. And maybe I was. But I couldn't stop thinking about her. About the way her brow furrowed when she was thinking, the unexpected sharpness of her tongue, the way she seemed to see right through my usual act. It was captivating. And frustrating. And somehow, exhilarating.
I had no idea why she affected me so much. Everyone else was easy. She was anything but. And that was precisely why I couldn't stop trying.
Is that what you think? That I'm bothering you?" My voice was low, completely devoid of that booming, cheerful politeness I usually put on. It just… came out. I needed to know what was going on in her head. Her turning her back to me, busy with her chest, felt like another dismissal. Another brick in the wall.
"I think you're still standing in my yard when I'm clearly trying to work, Owen." Her voice was sharp, cutting. It stung. I was trying to understand, and she was just… shutting me down. But still, I couldn't move. I could feel her annoyance radiating off her, even with her back to me. It was frustrating, but also, in a weird way, it kept me rooted.
A beat of silence. My eyes were still fixed on her back. I knew she could feel me staring. I wanted her to turn around. I wanted her to face me, to give me something real.
"I just... I don't understand why you're so different." I found myself stepping closer, needing her to really hear me. "Everyone else... they're easy to talk to. They smile, they laugh. You just... frown." I watched her shoulders stiffen. Did she ever let go? Did she ever just… relax?
She sighed, a long, exasperated sound. She grabbed the last of the copper, and finally, finally, she turned. Her expression was neutral, carefully so, but I could still sense that edge.
"Because I have work to do, Owen. And I'm not here to be 'easy to talk to' or to entertain you. My job is to build things. To help the town when they actually need help. Not to rebuild a stage that you named 'Stagey' and mourn like it's a person."
That last part hit me. Mourn like it's a person. It was a direct hit, aimed right at a genuine part of me. It felt dismissive, almost mocking, of something I deeply cared about.
Most people understood, or at least pretended to. She just saw it as frivolous. My polite facade, which had been barely hanging on, cracked even further. I must have looked genuinely taken aback, because she seemed to register it. I pressed my lips, but my eyes... I couldn't hide the intensity there. I needed to know why she felt this way. Why she saw me this way.
"Right," I said, slowly. "Right. I get it." I didn't get it. Not really. I sounded… thoughtful, because I was trying to absorb this new, harsh information. It wounded me a little, yes, but it didn't push me away. It just made her even more of a mystery I needed to solve. Why was she so different? So quick to judge?
I turned, slowly, and this time I actually walked away. Not running, not jogging, just a slow, measured walk back towards the Blue Moon. I walked away, a strange mix of curiosity and… something else. Something I couldn't quite name. Like something was trapped inside me.
The next few days felt… strange. Juliette was a blur of focused motion, a whirlwind of sawdust and industry around the Blue Moon. I'd watch her from my window, or sometimes from the saloon's entrance, pretending to dust a bottle or sweep the floor. She was meticulous, every swing of her hammer precise, every cut of the saw deliberate. It was mesmerizing to watch someone so utterly dedicated to their craft.
I usually liked to chat with the townspeople as they worked. It was part of being the Blue Moon's owner, part of my charm. But with Juliette, it felt different. After our last conversation, after she'd practically called me out for being fake, I hesitated. Would she just roll her eyes again? Would she tell me to go away? It was a strange feeling, this reluctance. I, Owen, the man who could charm anyone, felt… unsure.
Still, I couldn't completely ignore her. She was out there, working hard on Stagey. So, I found myself doing little things. Leaving a cool jug of water by the worksite when she wasn't looking. Placing a small plate of dried fruit and jerky where she'd easily find it. Just small gestures, anonymous acts of consideration.
I didn't want a thank you. I just wanted to help, in my own quiet way, without getting in her way or earning another one of her frowns.
I often wondered about her, about what made her tick. Most people in Sandrock were an open book. They had clear motivations, clear desires. Juliette was like a sealed letter. What was behind that prickly exterior? Why did she keep everyone at such a distance? Was she always so… serious?.
Her comment about Amirah still buzzed in my head. Obsessed. It was so far from the truth, but it clearly meant she'd paid attention to my conversations. That, at least, was a small victory. She noticed me. She really noticed me. Even if it was to misinterpret my friendly admiration for an artist.
Days blurred into evenings. The sounds of construction became a comforting backdrop to the Blue Moon's rhythm. Sawing, hammering, the occasional metallic clang. Each sound was progress, bringing Stagey back to life. And bringing Juliette just a little closer to my orbit, even if she didn't realize it.
Finally, the day came. The new stage stood proudly, gleaming under the Sandrock sun. It wasn't just rebuilt; it was better. Stronger, with a subtle elegance that hadn't been there before. Juliette, covered in dust and grime but looking incredibly satisfied, was packing up her tools.
My heart swelled with a mixture of pride for her work and a strange sense of anticipation. This was it. Our next interaction.
I walked out, slower than usual, letting my eyes take in the new structure. It truly was magnificent. I ran my hand over a smooth wooden beam, feeling the quality of her work.
"She's beautiful, Juliette," I said, my voice quieter than usual. I used her name, consciously, letting it feel natural on my tongue. "More beautiful than Stagey ever was, honestly. You really outdid yourself." I turned to her, letting my genuine gratitude show in my eyes. "Thank you. Really. It means a lot."
She fiddled with a wrench, avoiding my gaze for a moment. "Yeah, well," she mumbled, then cleared her throat. "I mean, it was an official town commission, highest priority and all that. So… duty calls."
She paused, and then, to my utter surprise, she looked up at me, just for a second, a flicker of something new in her eyes.
"And, uh… I guess I didn't really get it before. About… Stagey. It's clear you cared a lot about it. So… my bad, I guess."
My breath hitched. An apology. Not a full one, not flowery or dramatic, but an honest, raw admission. From Juliette. The prickly, untouchable Builder. She saw me. She saw that my feelings about Stagey were genuine, not just a frivolous complaint. It was such a small thing, but it felt monumental. It felt like a tiny crack had appeared in that wall she kept around herself. And it wasn't just a crack; it was an invitation. A tiny, almost imperceptible one, but an invitation nonetheless.
A real smile, soft and unforced, stretched my lips. It wasn't the Blue Moon smile, the one I put on for customers. It was just my smile.
"No worries, Juliette," I said, my voice gentle. "I appreciate you saying that. Really." I meant it with every fiber of my being. Her words, hesitant as they were, meant more than any formal thanks.
I watched as she quickly gathered her remaining tools, her movements perhaps a little faster now, as if she was trying to escape the moment. She still kept her distance, still had that guarded look about her. But something had shifted. I could feel it. The puzzle of Juliette was still far from solved, but she’d just given me a piece. And I was more determined than ever to find the rest.
After Juliette left, the quiet descended on the Blue Moon. But for me, the world was suddenly louder. My mind buzzed with her words, with that brief, almost imperceptible shift in her expression.
"My bad, I guess." She actually said "My bad"! It wasn't an apology she'd been forced into; it was a genuine, if awkward, acknowledgment from her. The Builder who rolled her eyes and called me out. The Builder who didn't care for polite platitudes. That felt significant.
I walked back into the saloon, but my usual tasks seemed… trivial. I leaned against the bar, staring out the window at the newly rebuilt stage. It stood there, solid and beautiful, a testament to her skill. But it wasn't just the stage I was thinking about. It was her.
She was so unlike anyone else in Sandrock. Everyone else was open, eager to please, easy to read. And I was good at reading people. It was part of running a successful business, knowing how to make everyone feel welcome. But Juliette… she defied all my usual tricks. She didn't want my charm. She didn't care about my reputation. She just… was. And she didn't pretend to be anything she wasn't.
Her bluntness, which initially had been off-putting, now seemed almost… refreshing. She was honest. And that honesty, coupled with that fleeting moment of vulnerability about Stagey, made her even more intriguing. I usually didn't have to work this hard to understand someone. But with Juliette, every small piece of information felt like a treasure.
And that comment about Amirah. "Obsessed." It was so wildly off-base, but it meant she'd been paying attention to me. Paying attention enough to form an opinion, even if it was a mistaken one. It wasn't the kind of attention I was used to, but it was attention nonetheless. A little spark of something unexpected.
I found myself replaying our interactions. Her initial annoyance at being roped into the commission. Her firm correction about using her name. The way she didn't back down when I pressed her about why she didn't like me. And then, the almost-apology. Each moment was a tiny puzzle piece. And the more pieces I got, the more I wanted to put the whole picture together.
A strange warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the lingering disappointment from Stagey's collapse. It wasn't just about the stage being rebuilt anymore. It was about her. Juliette, the prickly, honest, utterly fascinating Builder.
My usual smile, the one I used for everyone, felt a little tighter, a little less genuine than the one that had just slipped out when she spoke. Maybe I didn't need that mask so much when I was around her. Maybe… maybe I could just be Owen. Just Owen, trying to figure out this baffling, wonderful woman.
I knew this wasn't going to be easy. She was a tough nut to crack, clearly. But for the first time in a long time, I felt genuinely excited about the challenge. This was going to be interesting. Very interesting indeed.