“You’re describing a small cardboard box in a sea of small cardboard boxes.” He jumps down with a thud,his hair now so out of place I want to run my hands through to fix it. I want to smooth each strand down, and rake it so that it frames his face.
“You know what, they’ll be fine without it,” I say breathlessly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hands on his hips and slightly out of breath, he raises his eyebrows. “But what about the grand reveal? The mystery? The intrigue?” He throws a hand out at me, eyes wide with a mischievous gleam. “You’ve sold it to me now. We’re finding it. Get up.”
“If you can’t reach it, I definitely can’t.”
“Get up!” he repeats, pressing his back against the shelving unit. He squats down a little and then holds out his palms, one placed on top of the other.
“What are you doing?” I ask, arms crossed.
“You’ll know it if you see it, right? So let me give you a leg up.”
I close the short distance between us and slowly place my hands on his shoulders. The muscles are thicker than I imagined, not that Iimaginedthem at all. My heart rate triples as I grip him with my fingers and place a foot in his hands.
“Ready?”
I nod, my lips sealed together in a tight line.
He pushes me up with ease, as I let out a nervous laugh. As the top shelf reaches eye level I lose the ability to process anything in front of me, all my brain power has zeroed in on the tingling sensation of his cheek pressed against the outside of my thigh as he lifts me up higher.
After a few seconds he clears his throat. “Any luck?”
The question snaps the boxes into sharp focus and I spring into action. After rummaging through box after box I finally spot it pressed up against the far wall and throw my arm out like a fishing rod.
His strong hands grip into my calves. “Hastings, if you don’t grab it now I am going to drop you.”
“I can’t reach it.” The tip of my middle finger touches the serrated edge as I flick it in an attempt to roll it toward me.
“Hold on.” Eric shifts his weight as he grips my foot in one hand and grips the back of my calf with the other. My left leg is still floating in midair as a counter-balance as he pushes me up higher.
I strain as two more fingertips wrap around the box’s edge, my calf burning under his touch despite the denim skin barrier.
“Got it! Thank you, God.” I shout with glee as I seize the box between my thumb and forefingers, dragging it toward me.
“You’re welcome,” he says through a slightly labored breath. I can hear his smirk as he starts to lower me down.
Holding the box in one hand, I use the other to hold on to the shelves as he slowly lowers me down; to stabilize me on my descent his hands move slowly up my legs until—
“Shit!” My hand slips from the metal edge and I swing backward and down at the same time, waving my arms around like a cartoon bird learning how tofly. My eyes squeeze close as I drop the box, grabbing at the metal rails for purchase and preparing for injury.
The impact doesn’t come. Bancroft drops my leg and catches me with both hands on my waist, effectively slowing me down and keeping me upright. His grip tightens as the soles of my feet hit the floor with a thump.
My clamped eyes eventually open and find him looking down at me. I realize all too suddenly how small the room is, how long we have been in here, and how comfortable we’ve been in the cramped but somehow cozy space.
“You OK?” he asks, scanning my face.
“Yeah,” I reply breathlessly. He swallows hard as his eyes flick to my lips and then back up to my eyes—so fast, I could have imagined it. He breaks our stare and rests his chin on my forehead, sighing—or maybe lightly panting from the effort of lifting and then catching me, I can’t tell. I don’t pull away because the feeling of warm hands tight on my waist is sending electricity into parts of me I thought previously dead. The bottom of my Frankenstein stomach twists in a way it hasn’t done since the night we refuse to acknowledge.
“For someone who basically used to live up a tree you’d think your balance would be better,” he says, chest vibrating with each word.
“Just out of practice, I guess.” I breathe, only now noticing how my hands grabbed the fabric of his shirt during my rapid descent.
He looks down at me, eyes heavy and face shadowed in the light behind him. The metal shelving creaks as I release my fingers, causing him to straighten. Not knowing where to put my hands, I rest them on his arms, still tense from my fall. The muscles relax, along with his fingers as he exhales, gliding his palms across my waist so delicately my legs turn to liquid. A sliver of memory seeps in between us; his darkening blue eyes flash with it as he draws his lips together and then apart to say something.
The entire metal shelving unit vibrates behind us as his phone, sitting next to a box of Fate-branded bright pink sunglasses, starts ringing. We jolt out of the moment, retreating across to opposite sides of the tiny room as my face burns red hot. A quick glance at the phone showsMumon the screen. I pretend not to have seen it and stretch my arm out to pass the handset to him.
His shoulders tense when he realizes who is calling. “I should take this,” he whispers, his chest still heaving.
