“Need a hand?” Sam calls as they approach.
Without a word, I hand him the other hammer.
Henry uncoils the string lights beside me. We work shoulder to shoulder, close enough that I feel his body heat when he leans in to knot a loose cord.
Sam passes him a nail without looking. Henry reaches and takes it without breaking stride. Judith appears from somewhere behind them, laughing at something Sam mutters under his breath. Henry’s hand finds the small of her back like it’s magnetized. She leans into him without a thought. Sam’s palm settles on her hip from the other side.
My jaw tightens hard enough I taste metal.
Not because it’s wrong. But because it’s effortless and no one here is wondering where they stand.
I swing the hammer again.
I remember when Mel used to lean into me. Used to hook her finger through my belt loop in the grocery store to see if I’d react. Used to press me against the refrigerator after the boys went down for their nap and whisper, “Don’t make a sound.”
I haven’t heard that tone in years.
“You good?” Henry asks.
I nod.
He studies me a second longer than necessary.
Sam cracks a joke about the fireworks and it makes me laugh. The sound feels rusty, like it’s been sitting unused somewhere behind my ribs.
Judith swats Sam’s arm. Henry catches her wrist and pulls her close enough to brush his mouth against her temple.
I look away before it turns into staring.
Mel steps onto the porch.
I feel the shift in the air before I see her.
She’s wiping her hands on the old strawberry dish towel she refuses to throw out. The wind lifts the shorter strands of her silvered hair, exposing the curve of her neck. She’s still beautiful but also unreachable in a way.
She scans the yard automatically, assessing what still needs doing. Tables straight. Grill lid open. Coolers spaced evenly. She moves like she’s holding everything together by sheer will.
Her eyes find me.
For a split second, it’s twenty years ago. Newly married. Barely furnished house. Too many guests. Mel daring me with a look to pull her upstairs before anyone notices.
I adjust the lights.
Henry hands me another nail. Our fingers brush when I take it.
His skin is warm and callused, and his hand is broad.
The contact lingers just long enough that my grip tightens around the nail. I imagine his hands on more intimate parts of my body. My chest pulls tight on the inhale that follows. Heat drops low and fast, settling heavy in my gut before I can shut it down.
I shift my stance, boots grinding into the dirt, like I can shake it loose. My tongue presses briefly against the roof of my mouth. I fix my eyes on the fence post and drive the nail in harder than necessary. The impact travels up my arm.
Behind me, Sam slings an arm over Henry’s shoulder. Their bodies fit without thought, Henry leaning in just enough to take the weight. My gaze flicks back before I catch it, dragging over the line of Henry’s back, the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders. Sam says something I don’t catch. Henry’s mouth curves in an easy half-smile.
I used to stand close with Mel.
Now we orbit.
She brushes past me in the kitchen with a tray in her hands and a grocery list in her head. I step aside so she doesn’t bump into me. She thanks me like I’m a guest in my own house.
