Her throat bobs as she swallows. She tries to cover it with attitude, but I see the flicker of real fear under her bravado.
“I hate that,” she says softly.
“Good,” I tell her. “Fear keeps you alive.”
She huffs. “You’re so cheerful.”
“You’re the cheerful one,” I say. “I’m the realist.”
“Grump,” she corrects.
I straighten slowly, and when I turn, she’s closer than she was a second ago. Like she can’t help it. Like her body keeps drifting toward mine even when her mouth says she hates me.
I lift a brow. “You hovering because you’re worried, or because you like watching me work with my hands?”
She chokes. “Oh my God.”
“Answer the question.”
She points at the panel. “Is it fixed?”
I step closer until she has to lean back against the wall behind her. Not trapped. Not exactly. But my body is a boundary now, and she knows it.
“Not yet,” I say.
“Then fix it,” she snaps, but her voice wavers.
My gaze drops to her mouth again because it’s the most distracting thing in the room. She’s got a tiny smear of paint near the corner of her lip, and the thought of wiping it off with my thumb makes my hands ache.
“You always this bossy?” I ask.
“Only with men who need it,” she fires back.
I laugh under my breath. “You think I need it?”
She lifts her chin. “Don’t you?”
I step in closer, just enough that our breath tangles. I don’t touch her. I don’t have to.
“Firefly,” I murmur, “you don’t know what I need.”
Her eyes widen—just a fraction—and her cheeks flush again. She tries to hold her ground, but her fingers curl in the hem of her sweatshirt like she’s bracing herself.
“Then tell me,” she says, and her voice is quiet and bold at the same time.
My jaw ticks.
I could.
I could tell her that I need her to stop looking at me like she sees through the steel and the sarcasm. I could tell her I need her to stop turning my mornings into something I look forward to. I could tell her I need her to stop being so goddamn bright next door while I’m trying to live in the dark.
Instead, I lift my hand, slow, deliberate, and swipe my thumb gently across her cheek where the blue paint sits.
She freezes.
Not scared.
Affected.
