Something about the way Jordan said “baby browns” sent a surge of blood to Astrid’s cheeks as she slipped the goggles over her head. She had no clue why. Eye protection was a basic requirement on renovation sites, and she’d worn them enough to expect them here as well.
Jordan settled her own goggles on her face, causing a longer piece of hair to tangle in the strap and stick out from her head in a golden-brown loop. Astrid doubted she noticed or cared as she hoisted the sledgehammer onto her shoulder, planted her booted feet on the plastic-covered floor, and let the tool fly.
A huge crack resounded through the kitchen. Even though Astrid was prepared for it, she startled, stepping back a couple of feet as chunks of wood catapulted into the air. Jordan’s lean arm muscles rippled as she reared back and did it again. She had abs—actual defined abs visible between the denim of her overalls that contracted each time she reset herself for another swing.
It was fascinating. Jordan’s body was efficient, quick, like a finely tuned machine that knew exactly what it was built for. Astrid had only ever seen men do this kind of work, which was probably why this—Jordan, exhibiting such power—was so enthralling. Astrid feltlike a horrible feminist. Of course she knew women and nonbinary people worked on construction sites all the time, but she still couldn’t pull her eyes away. Score another point for internalized sexism.
She shook her head to clear it, shoving any and allfascinatedthoughts from her mind. This was a woman doing her work and doing it well. That was all.
Once the bank of cabinets was clear, Jordan stopped. She shoved her goggles on top of her head, pressed the steel head to the floor and leaned on the handle as she turned to face Astrid.
She was sweating.
Arms glistening. Droplets on her chest.
Astrid felt like slapping herself for noticing these details. True, she was a detail-oriented person. Type A, organized to a fault, eyes keen and constantly searching for flaws. She was the friend who always spotted the piece of fuzz in Claire’s hair or noticed that Iris had missed a button on her shirt, but still. She was in a professional setting, for god’s sake—on camera, no less—and here she was noticing beads of perspiration trailing into her carpenter’s cleavage.
“And that’s how you do it,” Jordan said.
“Looked thrilling,” Astrid deadpanned. “Now where’s a steamer? I’m great at removing wallpaper.”
“Oh, no,” Jordan said, laughing. “It’s your turn.”
Astrid’s stomach tightened. She probably couldn’t even lift that sledgehammer, much less send it flying toward a collection of wood. She’d rather not have Jordan-the-sexy-carpenter—not to mention half the show’s crew—witness her flailing with the tool. She’d probably end up breaking a toe or finger or something else she was most definitely not supposed to be destroying. No thanks.
“What’s wrong, Parker?” Jordan said, taking a step closer to her, sledgehammer in tow. “Scared?”
Astrid got the distinct feeling Jordan knew the answer to herquestion, but hell if Astrid was going to admit it. The carpenter was even closer now. Astrid could see a circle of darker green rimming the center of her hazel eyes. She’d never seen eyes like that before.
“So?” Jordan said, that shit-eating grin on her face again.
Astrid swallowed and set her jaw. “Fine.”
Triumph—that was the only to describe it—flooded Jordan’s expression.
Astrid followed the other woman to a still-intact row of cabinets.
“Put these on,” Jordan said, taking off her gloves and handing them over. They were still warm as Astrid slid the rough material over her fingers. “Okay, now here’s what you’re going to do...”
Jordan proceeded to explain how to hold the sledgehammer, how to use your legs for leverage, how to grip it firmly before letting it fly toward the intended target.
“Once you hit the cabinet, don’t loosen your grip,” she said. “Keep it tight, pull back, and go again. Got it?”
“Got it,” Astrid said, but she felt anything but confident. Her hands shook as she took the handle, suddenly terrified that she truly wouldn’t be able to lift it.
“No time like the present, Parker,” Jordan said, watching her with what could only be described as a smug expression. Did she... want Astrid to fail?
The thought was a punch in the gut. Then again, it wasn’t like Astrid didn’t deserve whatever attitude Jordan felt like dishing out, but Astrid’s whole body suddenly felt like a healing bruise—the gentlest press was bound to hurt.
She sucked in a lungful of air and lifted the sledgehammer into the air. The weight was substantial, falling heavily on her shoulder and pulling at her neck muscles, but she did it. She squared herself in front of the nearest cabinet while Jordan took a few steps back.
Probably wise. God only knew where this thing was actually goingto land. She set her body to mimic exactly what Jordan had done, eyeing her target like a bull’s-eye. She breathed in slowly through her nose but couldn’t seem to move beyond her current position.
“I always picture something I really despise,” Jordan said from behind her.
Astrid turned. “What?”
Jordan gestured to the cabinet. “Imagine it’s something you hate. Or someone. The forty-fifth president. Racists and homophobes. Brussels sprouts.”
