It’s the best comparison I can come up with at the moment, and of course that’s his takeaway from that entire tangent.
“It’s not my fault you’re freakishly strong.”
“Freakishly strong?” He lets out a low whistle. “Why, Harper Conrad, that sure does sound like a compliment.”
I ignore him, scanning the supply kit Mr.Grazz set down nearby us. It’s similar to a tackle box that you’d use for fishing, but instead of lures and hooks, it’s filled with small art tools.
Scissors, ceramic sculpting tools, painting knives, box cutters,and—
“Reach over and see if you can snag that pair of tweezers. Or a putty knife.”
We scoot in tandem and Easton reaches into the tackle box, rooting around until he can get his hooks on the tool we need.
When he hands the tweezers to me, I hold them up in front of his nose, tapping them together like alligator teeth.
“Hold still.” Chomp, chomp. “Let me see if I can get us out of this mess.”
“With those?” he squeaks, clearly terrified.
“It’ll be fine.” It has to be fine. “I’ll be careful.”
Carefully—as if I were a surgeon performing a delicate operation—I wedge the tweezers as slowly as I can between his fingers and my flesh, gently trying to pry them apart without hurting either of us.
“Ow, ow—stop, stop, stop.”
I stop.
“Seriously?” I huff. “This is your fault. I take my eyes off you for three seconds and this happens. You’re gonna have to suck it up and let me do this.”
“Only because I became distracted bysomeonebossing me around, because God forbid I choose the wrong flower color for your precious garden thing.”
“Trellis. Gardentrellis.”
“They didn’t even have those back in medieval times.” He ignores me and continues complaining. “What a stupid idea.”
“Literallynotthe point!” I practically hiss in frustration. “You are glued to me. Focus, Easton, focus!”
I fixate on the hand pressed to my skin; it’s so big.These hands have been on your body, Harper, running down your spine when he kissed you.
I give my head a shake, biting my bottom lip.
Concentrating on the task, I do my best to ignore the way my pulse quickens with him so close. He smells so good…soclean, with a hint of something woodsy.
Guh!
I bite harder on my lip, forcing my brain to come up with a solution to get us apart rather than getting distracted by the heat of his skin beneath my touch. His index and middle fingers specifically.
“Agh,” he mutters. “We don’t have time forthis!”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not going to be stuck here all night—calm down.”
I push. Pull. Nip at the glue with the tweezers.
Cringe.
Gasp.
It hurts, but I’m willing to fight through the pain.
