Mateo leans down so I have easier access as I continue to run my fingers through his hair. “Good thing we’re all a bit of a mess,” he mutters.
I scoff. “You’re not a mess. You have your life together.”
He pulls his head away and raises his eyebrows, making his goggles wiggle. “Yep. That’s why I was single at twenty-six, hadn’t had a girlfriend since university, and had free time to get married to you. Because I totally had my life together.”
I push against his chest. “That’s not what I meant. You have an awesome job you love and you know what you want to do with your life.”
He lifts his chin. “So do you.”
The words hang between us and I have to look away. The tension feels heavy and my mind pings between wanting to move closer to Mateo and the impulse to push him away. I feel like a shook-up bottle of soda, ready to burst with feelings I’ve held in.
Finally, a few words make their way out of my dry throat. “I’m not sure what I want to do anymore.”
Silence reigns and my anxiety rises. I rock back and forth on my feet until I can’t resist looking at Mateo any longer. His goggles are clear enough that I can see his warm brown eyes. They beckon me toward him, urging me to fall into him and his strong arms.
Why does being around Mateo feel like I’m drinking a cup of hot cocoa on a chill fall evening while wrapped in a fuzzy blanket? I shouldn’t be this comfortable around him. Mateo is in the brother’s-best-friend friend zone.
He needs to stay there. He deserves more and someone better. Someone without baggage and issues.
Mateo breaks my gaze and steps to his workbench. He digs around until he grabs something and turns to me. In his hands are a pair of protective glasses, the clear, huge goggle kind, and a spare mask.
My hand reaches out of its own accord, grabbing the goggles by their strap. Do I really want to get covered in sawdust?
He moved to California to marry me. I can get a little dusty.
I slide them onto my face, the edges dig uncomfortably against my skin. Then I slip the mask over my mouth and nose. It’s a good thing I don’t have any video meetings this afternoon. Who knows how long the goggle and mask lines will last for.
I look up at Mateo, who reaches up, adjusting the way the goggles sit on my face, relieving some of the uncomfortable pressure. His gentle touch sends a shiver up my spine.
“Teach me the ways of the wood, farm boy.”
Mateo’s as giddy as a kid in a candy shop. He rubs his hands together gleefully. Somehow that makes him even more attractive. All of this good lookingness needs to stop because no one should lookthatattractive in these fashion-crime goggles.
“As you wish.” His voice is deeper than normal, and I wish we were doing something else right now. Like kissing.
I content myself with the sensation of a myriad of butterflies fluttering in my belly. I’m beginning to understand the swoon factor of the Dread Pirate Roberts even more now.
Mateo guides me to the other side of the wood slat he’s working on. I’m pretty sure it’s a table. He grabs a piece of sandpaper and intently explains why sanding is important. Something about how it needs to be sanded before applying stain so it colors evenly.
Honestly, it’s all over my head. My brain has immediately given up on the lesson and is cataloging everything about this moment and Mateo’s happy expression. Nobody said I was a star student.
Mateo turns on the sander and hands it to me. I push it against the wood.
Nothing happens.
I move it up and down like Mateo did, but the same thing happens. Absolutely nothing. A warm hand covers mine, putting more pressure on the machine as we follow the wood’s grain.
Mateo stands behind me, my shoulder nestling into his chest as we fall into the rhythm of sanding. The scent of wood surrounds me on all sides.
After a minute, Mateo turns off the sander. I exhale loudly and feel his chest vibrate with a chuckle. Sparklers ignite in my chest.
I step away. This was a bad idea. The desire to linger in Mateo’s arms is overpowering, the feeling of his laughter too much for me to handle without diving into my deeper feelings.
Luckily, Mateo steps to my side. “Do you want to keep going?”
“No thanks.” I brush off the dust on my sleeves andstrip off my goggles, and unstrap my mask, placing the items back on his workbench. I avoid his gaze as I rid myself of more dust. “You make it look easy. Now I know why you have all those arm muscles. Pressing down on that thing is a workout.”
“Ah, so you like my muscles?” I look up and catch sight of his wiggling eyebrows, which make his goggles bob up and down.
