I took one clean rag from the shelf, dampened the corner from my water bottle, and held it out. "Here."
Daphne reached for it.
This time, our fingers brushed.
She went still.
So did I.
The shed held the heat around us. Dust drifted through the sunlight. Outside, Tyler dropped something metal, and Gus told him, "Try not to lose a fight with the lid."
Daphne took the rag slowly. "Thanks."
"Sure."
She dabbed at her cheek and missed the spot again.
A laugh moved in my chest before I could stop it. Not much. Just enough.
Her eyes narrowed. "Is the dirt winning?"
"It's putting up a fight."
"I respect that."
"Give me the rag."
The words were out before I could pull them back.
Daphne looked at me for one long second.
Then she handed it over.
I stepped closer.
Close enough to see the tiny flecks of gold in her green eyes. Close enough that her breath caught. Close enough that my hand had to stay careful.
"Hold still," I said.
Her voice came out quiet. "I'm trying."
I touched the damp cloth to her cheek.
Cloth to skin. One practical swipe at a streak of dirt.
It still hit me like a fist.
Daphne's skin was warm from the sun. Her lashes lowered, then lifted. Her mouth stayed parted, soft and too close. I wiped the dirt away and dropped my hand before I forgot exactly why I had to be careful.
"There," I said.
She swallowed. "Did I survive?"
"Barely."
Her smile came back, but it trembled at the edge.
I stepped away and hung the clipboard on its hook. "Same time tomorrow?"
