I glanced up and saw he was looking down at me, his gray eyes shadowed under the brim of his ball cap. Dust clung to the sweat on his forearms, darkening the hair there. My mouth went dry.
“No problem,” I said, voice quieter than I meant it to be.
He held my gaze a beat longer then stepped back. Warmth spread through my blood and settled deep in my core, disconcerting but oh so right.
Evenings stretched long. We’d work until the light failed, then clean up, crack open beers or pour wine, order pizza, and sit on the back deck while the cicadas screamed in the trees.
One night after we’d finished priming the hallway walls, we collapsed onto the old porch swing with a bottle of red between us. My legs were stretched out, bare feet propped on the railing. His were planted wide, one arm slung along the back of the swing. Our shoulders almost touched.
I took a sip. The wine was tart on my tongue. “Do you ever think about what you’ll do after you sell this place?” He’d said he wanted something more manageable, something with a little land around it, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to hear all of it.
He shrugged. “Buy something smaller. Maybe a cabin out by the lake. Somewhere quiet. Room for a workshop.”
“Sounds nice.” I tilted my head toward him. “No plans to… I don’t know, date again? Start over?”
He let out a short, dry laugh. “Haven’t thought that far. Been a while since anyone caught my eye.”
I studied the wine in my glass. “Did you ever feel like… something was missing?”
He went still. For a long moment, the only sound was the creak of the swing chains and the distant drone of traffic. He exhaled slowly.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Felt it for years before it ended. We stopped talking about anything real. We stopped connecting. Little things first, like schedules, who forgot to buy milk, who was too tired to talk after dinner. Then it was bigger. Sheneeded more than routine. Needed more than I could give her, apparently.” His voice was rough and unguarded.
I felt the weight of it settle in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“I’m glad you didn’t know. That’s not shit you should ever have to worry about.”
I met his eyes. “What about you? Did you ever feel like something was missing even before it ended?”
Another long pause. He took a swallow of wine straight from the bottle.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Felt it creeping in for a couple years. Thought if I just kept things steady, it’d pass. It didn’t.” A heavy moment of silence passed.
“And now?”
He exhaled and ran a palm over his mouth, his scruff scraping along his palm. “Now, I’m done pretending steady is enough.” His gaze held mine. “What about you? College boys treat you right?”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Not really. I’ve been so busy with finals and working that they are the furthest thing from my mind.”
He listened without interrupting, eyes on the dark yard. Marcus turned his head slowly, studying me. “Smart.”
“Maybe.” I met his gaze. “Or maybe I was just scared.”
He didn’t look away. “Scared of what?”
The admission hung there, heavy and dangerous. I felt my cheeks heat, the wine loosening my tongue more than I wanted.
“Of wanting something I wasn’t supposed to have,” I whispered. “Of crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.” I wasn’t talking about college boys anymore.
Something shifted across his face … maybe the same pull I felt tightening in my chest?
The swing creaked as he shifted closer, barely an inch, but enough. His arm along the backrest brushed my shoulder now, warm and solid.
“Some things are worth the risk,” he finally said, voice rough around the edges.
My pulse kicked up. The air between us turned hot and tight with everything we’d been circling for days. Every accidental brush of skin, every lingering look, every careful word that said more than it should.
