I hand him the level with shaking hands and try to ignore the way my body is screaming for his touch. “Fine. But I’m helping.”
“You can hold the flashlight.”
“I can do more than hold a flashlight.”
“Can you use a circular saw?”
“No.”
“Can you measure twice and cut once?”
“Probably not.”
“Then you can hold the flashlight.”
“This is why you’re infuriating.”
But I take the flashlight without further argument, because the truth is, I don’t know how to use a circular saw, and I’d probably cut my fingers off if I tried. Plus, holding the flashlight means I get to watch him work, watch the way his muscles move, watch the competent way he handles his tools.
We work in comfortable silence for the next twenty minutes. Wyatt cuts away the damaged wood with quick, sure movements, then measures and cuts a replacementpiece from lumber he brought with him. I hold the flashlight, trying not to get distracted by the way his shirt rides up when he reaches, exposing a strip of skin that makes my fingers itch.
“You just happened to have extra fence rail lying around?” I ask, needing to break the tension.
“We live on a ranch. Of course we have extra fence rail.”
“How did you even know I’d be out here?”
“Saw the broken rail yesterday. Figured you’d try to fix it yourself eventually.” He marks the screw holes with precise movements.
“And you thought you’d save me from myself?”
“Something like that.” His eyes meet mine briefly, and there’s something soft there, something that makes my chest tight.
“That’s very presumptuous.”
“That’s very practical.”
He holds the new piece in place and marks the screw holes. “Hand me that drill.”
“Why did you come help me? We’re supposed to be maintaining distance, remember? No contact, no emergencies, no exceptions.”
He pauses his drilling and looks at me, really looks at me. “Maybe I’m bad at following rules.”
“You? Mr. Everything-Must-Be-Perfect is bad at following rules?”
“Maybe I’m bad at following stupid rules.” He goes back to drilling, but there’s tension in his shoulders now.
“So you think the no-contact rule is stupid?”
“I think a lot of things are stupid.” He finishesattaching the new rail and tests its stability. It doesn’t budge.
“Like what?”
He stands up, dusting off his hands, and suddenly we’re close again. Too close. “Like pretending I don’t notice you. Like acting like I don’t think about you. Like this whole damn feud that keeps us on opposite sides when all I want is?—”
He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
“All you want is what?”
