Her brows drew together. “It’s stuck.”
“Push from the base.”
“I’m trying not to break it.”
“You can use force on this one.”
Daphne adjusted her grip and pushed again. The connector slid into place with a small, satisfying pop.
Her face brightened. “I did it.”
“You did.”
“That sounded almost like praise.”
“It was praise.”
Her smile turned softer, and the heat under my ribs got mean.
I looked down at the line and reached for the next piece. “Don’t let it go to your head. We’ve got twenty feet of tubing left.”
“Right. I’ll stay focused around irrigation.”
“Good.”
She shifted on her knees, and a tiny wince crossed her face before she smoothed it away.
I caught it anyway. “Your knees?”
“My knees are involved in a private dispute with the ground.”
“We can get you a pad.”
“I’m not using a kneeling pad after three days.”
“It’s equipment.”
“That sounds like the beginning of surrender.”
I stared at her for half a second.
Daphne stared back, and then her lips twitched.
I reached into the crate and pulled out the foam kneeling pad. “Use the pad.”
“Are you always this stubborn about foam?”
“Only when I’m right.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It usually is.”
She took the pad and slid it under her knees. “Fine. But if Tyler notices, I’m blaming you.”
“Tyler has compost problems.”
“Spoken like a man who knows how to redirect attention.”
