"We should probably—" She gestured toward the papers.
"Yeah." But I didn't move away, and neither did she.
She turned back to the table, her hand resting on the edge as she studied the timeline. I couldn’t look away from where her fingers drummed against the wood. It was a nervous habit she'd had since we were kids.
"You still do that," I said without thinking.
"Do what?"
“Tap your fingers. When you're thinking."
She looked down at her hand and immediately stopped while a flush inched up her neck. "Some things never change," she echoed, but her tone was soft and quiet.
The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but charged with something I couldn't quite name. She was close enough that if I shifted slightly, if I reached out, I could touch her hand. See if her skin was as soft as I remembered.
Instead, I cleared my throat and focused on the papers. "So the pergola goes here," I said, pointing to the diagram. "And we need to do something about the wind.”
She leaned closer to look at what I was pointing to, and her arm brushed mine again. This time she didn't immediately pull away. "I think Marla’s just nervous. This is a big deal for the inn."
"And for you." I glanced at her sideways. "Having to deal with me for a whole week."
Something flickered across her face, surprise, maybe, or something deeper. "It hasn't been that bad."
Her admission was so quiet I almost missed it. When I looked at her, really looked, I saw something in her expression that reminded me of how she used to look at me before everything got complicated. Before that night changed everything.
"Hasn't it?" I asked, my voice a little rougher than normal.
She met my gaze, and for just a second the careful walls she'd built around herself seemed to shimmer. Like they might be coming down.
"No," she said, barely above a whisper. "It hasn't been bad at all."
I started to lean closer, drawn by something I'd been fighting all week, when her phone buzzed on the table.
She jumped back, her hand flying to the phone. "It's Marla," she said, not meeting my eyes.
The spell between us broke, but something had shifted. That careful distance we'd maintained all week felt thinner somehow, like ice starting to crack. I was ready for it, too. I’d spent the past three years feeling like a part of me was missing, and I’d give anything to make things right.
Sabrina answered the phone, her voice bright and professional. "Hi, Marla. Yeah, we're going over everything now." A pause. "Uh-huh. Okay. I'll make sure he knows."
When she hung up, she gathered the papers and avoided my gaze. "She wants to confirm that you can be there by seven tomorrow morning to work on the pergola.”
"That's fine." Her hands shook a little as she tried to fold the diagram. "Sabrina."
“Yes?” She finally looked at me again, and I saw that same flicker. I hoped with all my heart it was a good sign.
"This… working together. It's been good. Better than I expected."
Her smile was small but real. "Yeah. It has been."
She finished packing up the papers and headed for the door, but she moved slower than necessary, like maybe she didn't want to leave.
"I should probably get going," she said, but she lingered on the threshold.
"Drive safe and keep an eye out for deer.”
"I will." She paused, her hand on the door handle. "Trace?"
"Yeah?"
