“Sorry,” I murmur.
He glances over his shoulder but doesn’t move. “I didn’t mind.”
I did.Not in a bad way. In a way that makes my pulse skip and my breath hitch. It also makes me annoyed with myself that the smallest contact with him can have such an effect on me.
By the time we reach the third shelf, I almost feel like a pro at being his assistant.
“Got it?” he asks as I brace the wood.
“Please. This barely weighs more than a latte.”
He adjusts his grip on the drill. “I’m trying to be chivalrous.”
“I don’t need chivalry. I need straight shelves.”
“Damn, that’s cold.” One side of his mouth arcs upward as he starts drilling.
When we finally finish, it’s past six, and the shop windows reflect nothing but darkness and the interior lights.
Jordan steps back, eyeing our work. “Now comes the moment of truth. What do you think?”
I fold my arms, tilt my head, and study the shelf-lined wall. “Perfectly level. They look beautiful.”
“Good.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I’d be crushed if you hated them.”
“To be honest, I’m really impressed.”
“I told you I’ve done this before.” He gives me a playful nudge with his elbow.
“Travis wouldn’t have done it better,” I tease.
“Please. You mean hecouldn’t.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I’ll never understand brothers and the endless competition.”
He crouches to gather fallen screws. “Competing is part of our DNA. But honestly? I’m more competitive with myself.”
“How so?”
“It could be anything. Brushing my teeth longer. Lifting more at the gym. Being a better boss. I have this internal push to do more with everything I do.”
Here’s another thing I never knew about him.
“That makes sense.” I nod slowly. “I do that with baking. Each batch of muffins has to be better than the last.”
He looks up, eyes lighting with recognition. “Exactly. I might take it to the extreme, but it keeps me from coasting. Besides,” he adds, rising to his feet. “We both know I’ve got enough flaws to balance it out.”
Is that what he thinks? That I’m always silently judging him?That makes me sad. If only he knew he holds a permanent soft spot in my heart.
“Who doesn’t?” I reply softly. “We’re all works in progress.”
“Oh, come on, G. You’re damn near angelic.”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “Definitely not true.”
He wipes his dusty hands on his jeans and walks over. When he stops in front of me, there’s a glimmer of mischief in his warm brown eyes. “Confession time. Tell me a secret. Something you’re ashamed of.”
I hesitate. “No way. Then it’s not a secret anymore.”
