“And Stevenkeepspushing about the design on Sydney Caliper. I’ve already told himthree timesthat our game is kid-friendly, and we can’t make one of the skins with her tour outfit, no matter how many times he insists it’show the fans would want it.”
I have no idea who the pop star is that she’s talking about, or what her outfits look like, but I grunt sympathetically and wince when she climbs angrily back up the ladder.
“Maybe you should let me do the lights,” I say again, to which she answers, again, “Max, you do everything. Let me at least participate.”
Her saying my name like that jolts me a little, but I wordlessly hand her another hook, which she sticks up roughly.
The porchislooking better, with a new set of furniture from me and a potted plant that should survive through the seasons. We’re connecting the string lights to a smart home system Lacey has insisted the renters are going to want, so they’ll turn on when it gets dark out.
“Do you think it would be cool to put a hot tub out here?” she asked, when we were brainstorming ideas, standing on the deck together in the dark.
I’d wanted to say yes, just so the two of us would have an excuse to test it out.
“Plus, I knew I shouldn’t have gone on vacation. All the bug reports are completely behind now. It’s like they all knew they could get away with pushing it off until I came back, but they didn’t know Gina was going to beg me to come back sooner, even though I have enough PTO built up to be off for an entire year.”
“Lacey,” I say, watching as she reaches a little too far to string up the lights in the corner. “The only time I’ve ever heard you talk like this is about your job.”
“What?” She scoffs, then waves her hand, shaking her head and quickly running her palm over her hair, which is tied back in two braids today. “No— it’s just— everyone complains about work. I love my job. Anyone would be happy to be in this position.”
“Yeah,” I say, “except you.”
That’s when she tries to twist on the ladder, clearly wanting to glare down at me, but she’s not holding on at the top and loses her grip.
I’ve been waiting for this moment, and I’m ready to catch her, moving to the side and bracing myself for the impact. She lands in my arms with anoof, and the ladder clatters down on the other side, hitting the railing, which doesn’t so much as creak under the impact. Jasper clearly built it to survive out here.
“Holy shit,” Lacey says, having instinctively wrapped her arms around my neck. I feel her fingers brush against the hair at the nape of my neck and stifle the shiver that threatens to run up my spine in response. “You caught me.”
I glare at her. “I told you to hold on.”
“You caught me like Superman or something. Max, that was crazy!”
I have to set her down, or I’m going to kiss her. She’s staring up at me with this open, grateful expression, like anyone with eyes wouldn’t have known she was about to fall from that ladder. All I did was pay attention to her and act in time to keep her from getting hurt.
“Ow, ow,” she says, the moment I try to set her down, watching as she favors her left ankle.
So much for her not getting hurt.
“Shit,” she hisses, reaching down to touch it. “I must have twisted it when I fell. Can you help me to the couch?”
Theoretically, I could provide support with her leaning against me, helping her limp inside, but I liked having her in my arms, so I scoop her up again, ignoring the double-beat of my heart when she rests her head against my chest.
She’s warm, and she smells like roses, and I’m deranged enough that I can’t stop thinking about pulling on those fucking braids.
Instead of giving in to those feelings, I say, “You should have been more careful.”
Lacey scoffs as I set her down. “You were pushing!”
“Pushing?” I ask, crossing my arms and staring down at her. She yanks a pillow and settles her ankle on it, then glares at me.
How quickly I’ve shifted from being adored like Superman to being scolded like I forgot to take the trash out.
“Yes,pushing,” she says, crossing her own arms in response. “I didn’t push onyourweird thing.”
That makes me laugh, and I turn, heading to the kitchen for ice, saying over my shoulder, “Myweird thing?”
“Yes!” she uncrosses her arms and throws her hands in the air as I turn the corner, and she calls back, “Don’t act like you don’t know!”
“No idea,” I say, returning with an ice pack from the freezer, kneeling down beside the couch and settling the compress over her ankle. She glowers at me, and I resist the urge to press the pad of my thumb to the wrinkle between her eyes.
