I should leave. Should grab my toolbox and get out before this gets more complicated than it already is.
But instead I lean up against the counter, crossing my arms across my chest.
Her eyes widen slightly when she takes me in—shirtless, hands streaked with grease from the cabinet hinges, baseball cap backward, a sheen of sweat catching the light.
Her gaze tracks down my chest, my torso, the tattoos on my ribs, before she forces her eyes back up to my face.
Color rises in her cheeks. Good to know I'm not the only one affected.
I give her a half smile and she gives me one back.
And fuck me if I don't feel a sudden onslaught of butterflies in my chest. She shifts her weight, glances at the kitchen counter where I've been working.
"I'm sorry, again for breaking everything.”
"Since when do you apologize this much?" I cut her off gently.
She looks down, biting her lip in that way she does when she's trying not to argue, then nods.
"You're letting me stay here for free and I end up breaking your shit."
"It's an easy to fix handle." I say, trying to bring a bit of lightheartedness to the conversation. "If it was one of my guitars, well then that might be a different story entirely."
She laughs at that.
“Do you have plans today?" The words slip out before I have a chance to stop them.
"Not really. Mia and your Mom are doing final shower prep. Camilla and Jay are going to look at venues.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I was just going to write for a bit. Or try to, anyway."
She moves toward the kitchen, reaching for a glass from the cabinet above where I'm standing. The space is tight. She has to lean past me to reach it, and suddenly she's there—her hip brushing against me, her scent surrounding me, the heat of her body so close I can feel it on my skin.
She freezes mid-reach.
I freeze completely.
For a second, neither of us moves. Neither of us breathes.
Her hand is stretched up toward the cabinet, her body angled over mine, and every point where we're almost touching burns like an open flame.
"Sorry," she whispers, but she doesn't move away.
"Don't be.” I say, reaching for the glass she’s after before handing it to her.
She grabs the glass quickly and steps back, putting distance between us like her life depends on it.
An idea forms before I can talk myself out of it.
Probably a terrible idea. I’m full of those lately.
"Do you want to go for a drive?"
She blinks at me, surprise flickering across her features.
"A drive?"
"Yeah. I could use a break from playing handyman, and..." Ipause, weighing how honest to be. "It's a nice morning. Seems like a waste to spend it inside."
I watch her consider it, see the internal debate play out in micro-expressions I remember from years of learning to read her.
