He looks at me for a long moment, and I can see him fighting with himself, see the war between what he wants and what he should do, playing out in his eyes.
“There,” he says instead, gesturing to the fence. “That’ll last twenty years.”
“Show-off.”
“It’s called doing the job right.”
“It’s called being anal-retentive.”
“Says the woman whose fence I just fixed for free.”
“I didn’t ask you to fix it.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He closes his toolbox and straightens up.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
“Even if you are infuriating.”
“Even if you are impossible.”
We’re back to staring at each other. The fence is fixed, there’s no reason for him to stay, but neither of us makes a move to leave.
“I should go,” he says, but he takes a step closer instead of away.
“Probably.” My breath catches as his hand comes up to my face.
“Your dad would lose his mind if he caught us out here together.”
“Definitely.” I lean into his touch despite myself.
“This is exactly the kind of thing we’re supposed to avoid.”
“Absolutely.” My hands rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing under my palms.
But he still doesn’t leave, and I still don’t go inside.
“Callie,” he says, his voice low and rough.
“Yeah?”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. Being here. Wanting you. Thinking about you every damn night since that day with the goat.”
My heart stops. “You think about me?”
“Every night.” His thumb strokes across my cheekbone. “Do you think about me?”
“Wyatt—”
“Tell me you don’t. Tell me I’m alone in this, and I won’t bring it up again.”
