“You can’t be serious.”
I shove my shoulders back, determined to be unbothered by his laughter. “Oh, I’m very serious.”
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me, Odie. No. You’re not bringing those.”
“And why not? Because they’re pink?”
I hold up the hot-pink box I bought when I got my first apartment. The last thing I wanted was to wait around for some maintenance guy who would just mansplain everything to me if something ever went wrong. So I went out, bought a toolbox, and learned to fix things myself. This thing has never let me down in all the years I’ve had it, so you bet I’m using it to help fix this barn too.
“Yes! It’s ridiculous. Besides, I have tools you can use.”
“I prefer mine.” I slam my trunk closed, then march past him, toolbox in hand.
I glance over my shoulder when I realize he’s not following me.
“Well, are you coming, Noah? I thought we had a barn to rebuild.”
He rolls his eyes with a sigh, then shakes his head, muttering something as he takes three long strides to catch up with me.
I ignore him until we reach the barn. He pulls open the door, and I see that the state of it is far different from how I left it yesterday.
“What the ...” I glare up at him. “Did you start without me?”
“Yes. I wanted to get the hard shit out of the way.”
“Hard shit? So you mean stuffyoudeem hard for me?”
He huffs. “No, Odie, I mean stuff that was hard for evenme. Ezra was out here helping me last night. We were inspecting things, and I was already up on that godforsaken rickety old ladder, so I figured why not do a few things that only I can reach anyway?”
When he puts it like that, it makes sense.
Still, he’s trying to exclude me, and Ihatebeing excluded. It makes me feel like a little kid all over again. Like that annoying little sister who is always trying to tag along and get everyone’s attention. But I’mnothis little sister. Not by a long shot. Noah said I could help, so he should let me help witheverything, even if my tools are pink.
“Fine. I just ... don’t exclude me because I’m small compared to you, okay? That’s not fair. I’ll let you know if I feel like I can’t handle something. And stop being an ass about my pink toolbox. This thing helped me redo the wiring in my bathroom a few weeks ago when the breaker kept popping every time I plugged my hair dryer in. I finally got sick of it and redid the whole thing.”
“Youredid the wiring? Can’t you call maintenance for that?”
“Sure, but I’m a strong, independent woman who can figure it out for herself. One trip to the hardware store and a few YouTube videos later, I learned everything I needed and didn’t have to wait around to let someone in. It was a win-win.”
His jaw has slackened, eyes wide with surprise, and that’s fair. I’m sure I don’t exactly give off Ms. Fix-It vibes, considering I wear heels 99 percent of the time and am almost always dressed up. It’s not that women in heels can’t fix things, but still. I understand societal norms, and I don’t fall into that category.
I reach up, pushing Noah’s jaw shut with a single finger. “Better close that before you let a fly in.”
My finger lingers longer than it needs, and Noah lets it, not moving away from my touch.
When I finally pull it away, the fight in him is gone, but the tension in the barn definitely isn’t. If anything, it’s higher than before, but there’s something entirely different about it.
I shake it off and give him my back, needing a moment to gather myself without his prying eyes.
What the hell even was that? Why did I keep touching him for so long? And why didn’t he move away?
I sit my toolbox on the ground and open it to retrieve my pink gloves. After slipping them on, I get to work moving the debris he has gathered.
Noah instructs me to make a pile near the door while he starts stripping more rotted panels off the wall.
