I bend over and touch my toes. I shake my hands and mentally shake off my negative thoughts about myself.
I straighten, flip my hair over my head and shake it out.
Yup, I want to see my husband.
The smell of sawdust pulls me toward the garage. It’s a scent I associate with Mateo, and I love it, but I probably won’t tell him that. I turn the corner and slip on a pair of sandals before opening the garage door. I pass our cars and slide open the tarp wall, slipping in before closing it again.
A few steps forward and I stop to lean against the wall. My eyes trace Mateo’s outline and study his work. With power tools at play, I’m afraid to make a sound and mess up his process.
Mateo leans over the wooden table, goggles on, and a dust mask strapped to his face. I think he’s using a sander—at least, that’s what it looks like as he glides the tool across the wood. Dust flies in the air, and there’s a thick layer of it coating Mateo’s arms. The front of his curls are saturated with the sawdust, and his headphones have a tangible layer on them.
He’s in a blue t-shirt today, his muscles flexing beneath the fitted fabric as he moves the sander. In my time in Hollywood, I’ve seen so manygym-acquired muscles but Mateo’s muscles are different. His build seems more natural, less hard lines and more understated strength. He’s “I need to be strong in my daily life” built.
I like it, even though I shouldn’t.
Alex’s voice pops into my head, reminding me to not get attached to his best friend. Emotions make things messy.
I ignore the voice, just as I’ve ignored my older brother all the other times. That’s what sisters do, right?
Mateo gets to the end of the large slab of wood and switches off the sander. He stretches, very similarly to how I stretched when I got up from my desk.
It’s uncanny how we occasionally and unintentionally copy each other’s movements since being married. I’ve found myself folding my arms to mimic Mateo’s posture more often than not recently.
That’s another bad sign.
Mateo turns and jumps when he sees me. His hand flies to his heart.
I stifle my giggle at his shocked expression, but let it loose when he starts to laugh.
Mateo grins as he takes off his headphones, lowers his dust mask, and leans back against his workbench. He folds his arms, pulling his t-shirt tight across his shoulders. The move automatically increases his hotness. The whole dusty buff carpenter look he’s rocking should be illegal. “Did you come to scare me? Or did you need something?”
I shrug, unfold my arms and take a few steps toward him, edging around his project. “Yep. Just wanted to get a head start on pranking my husband. I needed a break from my computer screen, so I thought I better come scare you.”
He smirks, meeting me halfway around what looks like a table, stopping a foot from me. “Do you want to learn how to use a sander?”
My eyebrows raise as I scan a covered-in-dust Mateo. “Um…”
He shrugs. “It’s okay, it’s messy. You don’t have to get your clothes dirty.”
I look down at my designer sweats, suddenly wishing I was in my old raggedy t-shirt and shorts I wear to bed. I’d be more willing to get dust on those. I chew on my lip. “These are my favorite pair of designer sweats.”
Mateo holds up his hands in innocence, sarcasm lacing his words. “Definitely can’t get dust on those.”
I glare at him.
He steps back because I’m sure I look absolutely intimidating. He gives me a once over, and the look in his eyes after inspecting my outfit sends a wave of warmth over me. “Since when is there such a thing as designer sweats?”
My farm boy is showing his roots. I can’t help but laugh. “Since always. Everything I wear is designer."
Mateo rubs the side of his beard, dust falling from his scruff. “We might have to change that. Especially if you’re going to come help me when you need a technology break.”
This idea should not be this appealing for someone who doesn’t like to get dirty.
Dust all over me?
No thanks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I agreed to that. Also, it’s messy.” I reach up and stick my fingers in his hair, just a small twitch of my fingertips creating a deluge of dust.
