We say our goodbyes, and Kirstin gets back on the phone. “Just think about it, okay, Amy?”
“Okay,” I relent, even though I know I won’t. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Okay,”I say, breathless, when Evan leads me in through the front door of the theater. “Why were you not interested in working on this place?”
It’s gorgeous—all tall ceilings, stonework, and a faint mildewy scent that communicates how long this building has existed. It’s a huge space, and we move through the marble lobby and into the main theater room, where two massive red curtains hang from the ceiling to the floor, genuinely taking my breath away.
“Evan!” someone says, and an older Black woman hurries around the side of the stage, a clipboard in her hand and an airabout her like she has too many things to do and not enough time to do them. “You made it! I’m not going to lie. I thought you would chicken out.”
“Ha,” he mutters, and we’re quickly pulled into another room, where the woman introduces herself as Beverly Munoz—volunteer director of the project—and sets us to work.
First, she describes to Evan the woodwork they need for this part of the building, which will be a theater-themed coffee shop. Then, she turns to me, pointing to the other side of the room, where paint supplies sit neatly stacked.
“And you can start with that wall,” she says. “That part is done. You can work right along behind Evan, paint when he’s done with the wood.”
“Oh!” I hold my hands up, shaking my head, wondering how to explain that I’m here as moral support. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my chest tightens with the thought of the other work I have to do—correspondence with other associates, paperwork, leads to follow. “I’m not?—”
But she’s already gone, bustling out of the room, and Evan turns to me, an amused look on his face. “What’s wrong, Amy? Not interested in working on this place?”
I open my mouth, but I’m interrupted by my phone ringing. I reach into my pocket to answer it, but to my shock, Evan crosses the room, plucking it right out of my hand.
“Hey!” I say.
“It’s after six on a Friday,” he says, scowling at my phone as it continues to ring. “You’re not an ER doctor. What could possibly be so urgent?”
My face heats. It’s not the first time I’ve had my work-life balance questioned. But it is the first time that it’s happened with a man like this so close to me, the minty, woodsy scent of him washing over me like it did in his living room.
I try to gather up a response to what he said, but my brain scatters into thoughts of his hands on me, the satisfying scrape of my nails over his back.
“Amy?” Evan asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up, like he knows what I’m thinking.
After that night, I’d driven home rationalizing the choice to sleep with him. It was just to get it out of my system. If I was going to help him through it, it only made sense that we took action on our obvious attraction to one another.
But it doesn’t feel like it is worked out of my system.
It feels deeply rooted, wound into my nerves, sitting in the back of every thought I have.
My phone stops ringing, and the sudden silence pulls me out of the moment. I realize I’ve been staring at Evan’s lips and take a step back from him, trying to gather myself.
“You can’t just take my phone,” I say, crossing my arms. “That’s rude.”
“You’re right,” he relents, handing it back to me, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes. “Also pretty rude to drag me out here and be on your phone the whole time.”
“I’m trying tohelpyou.”
We’re interrupted by a woman’s voice. “Did you need more guidance on this?”
We both jump, turning to find Beverly standing in the doorway of the room, her eyes bouncing between us. They settle on me, looking me up and down, as though reassessing if I’m capable of doing something as simple as painting the wall.
“No,” I say, a gut reaction, my instinct to try and be capable and reliable at all times. “No, we’ll get it done.”
Besides that, I see a flicker of myself in this woman—the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she leans on the wall like she couldn’t possibly hold herself up. And I want to help.
So, when she walks away, I set my phone to silent and place it face down on the counter. Evan looks at me appraisingly, then nods and turns back to his job.
And for the next four hours, we work side by side. At first, Evan reviews the plans, then alters them a bit, making something he calls a cut list. When he needs my help, I join him at the saw, holding one side of the wood while he cuts it.
