El exhaled, then reached out, gripping my shoulders.
“Elliot.”
I swallowed. “Yes?”
“Calm down.” His voice was firm but not unkind. “It’s okay. Just relax, alright?”
I closed my eyes, nodding. “Okay.”
“Good.”
His hands dropped to his sides, but I didn’t miss the way his fists clenched, the way his veins bulged slightly from the tension.
And then my gaze lowered to his pants.
Oh.
Oh.
I needed to get away from him.
“I’ll go hang this up,” I blurted, grabbing the portrait. I turned on my heel and practically fled, leaving him standing in my living room because if I stayed any longer, I wasn’t sure what else I’d do.
“Do you need help?” he called out.
“Not at all. Thank you!”
?
I struggled with the frame, shifting it left, then right, then back again, trying to get it to sit just right. The nail wasn’t cooperating, and neither was my patience.
I groaned in frustration, pressing my forehead against the cool wall.
Why was this so difficult?
El’s presence appeared behind me, close enough that I felt the warmth of his body before he spoke.
“How’d you know I still needed help?” It came out muffled because of how squished my face was to the wall.
“Easy,” El said, his voice low and amused. “Whenever you don’t ask for help, chances are you need it.”
I laughed. “Fair enough.”
He reached around me, steady hands adjusting the frame until it finally hung straight. Then he stepped back, arms crossed, admiring our work.
I turned to face him, suddenly hyper-aware of how small my room felt with him in it.
“About downstairs—” I started.
“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted. “You got excited. Mistakes happen.”
I frowned. “That’s just it. I don’t think it was a mistake.”
His expression shifted. “Oh.”
I nodded, my throat tightening. “Exactly. Oh.”
At that moment, all we could do was stare at each other.
