“It was just—” I shrugged, trying to play it off, trying not to replay the way she’d said we again, like we were a team and not whatever we actually were. “We were talking layout. It’s not a big deal.”
Moose whistled. “Powell ‘Everything’s Fine’ Ferguson thinks something’s not a big deal? That means it’s a huge deal.”
I grabbed my T-shirt off the back of my chair and yanked it on, needing the small barrier between me and their attention. “Don’t you two have anything else to do?”
“Not until the next call.” Meatball took a swig of his sludge. “So. Tell us about the barn.”
“There was wiring,” I said flatly. “And outlets. And arguing about outlet height.”
“And?” Moose prompted.
“And a donkey.” I hung my towel on the locker hook.
“Esmerelda,” Meatball said reverently. “Queen of the Mountain.”
“She tried to shove Jess into my side and nearly took us both down.” It had seemed like chaos at the time and now, in retrospect, seemed suspiciously like divine intervention.
Moose sat on the bench and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Let me get this straight. You and Jess are alone in a barn. You’rerebuilding her livelihood with your capable, manly hands. The donkey of destiny literally body-checks her into you. And you’re here, looking like you’ve been hit by a truck, saying nothing happened?”
I opened my locker and pretended to be very interested in reorganizing its contents. “I didn’t say nothing happened.”
Meatball stilled. “Oh, this is getting good.”
I didn’t want to say it. I really didn’t. But the image wouldn’t leave me—the way her breath had stuttered in her chest when I’d stepped in behind her to adjust the tape measure, the way her fingers had trembled for half a second under mine, the way she’d smelled like coffee and sugar and that floral shampoo she used.
“She—” I cleared my throat. “She didn’t bite my head off when I corrected her measurement.”
Moose waited.
“And for a second she… leaned. A little bit. Before she realized how close we were and jumped away.”
Moose’s grin held a downright evil curve. “Oh damn. We’ve got contact.”
“It was probably a reflex,” I said quickly. “She lost her balance.”
“Sure.” Meatball nodded. “I always lean back into people I hate when I lose my balance. Super normal.”
“She doesn’t hate me,” I said before I could stop myself.
Both of them went quiet. Not mocking this time. Just… watching.
I shut the locker a little too hard. “Not like she did,” I amended. “Not as much. It’s… better. A little.”
“What did she call you?” Moose asked.
“Powell,” I said. “Couple of, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Powell,’ and ‘You’re not putting my milk fridge there, Powell,’ but no jackass.”
“Progress,” Meatball said. “Soon you’ll be promoted to ‘you absolute menace’ and ‘oh my God, yes, right there.’”
I flipped him off on instinct, but my face heated anyway because my brain had absolutely no business supplying visuals to go with that last one.
The thing was, it wasn’t just about wanting her. Wanting was the easy part. I’d wanted Jess Donnegan since she’d marched into high school chemistry with a color-coded binder and proceeded to verbally eviscerate a football player for making fun of a kid in the back row.
Wanting was familiar. I understood how to live with that.
This was worse.
This was hope.
