“Where do you want these?” he asks.
“Back room. Against the wall by the reference section.”
He nods, carrying the box easily, and I follow with a smaller one, pretending not to watch the muscles in his back shift under that worn T-shirt. He sets the box down gently, then turns—standing too close in the narrow aisle between shelves.
“You’ve got glitter on your shoulder,” he says.
“What?”
He steps forward, brushing it away. His thumb lingers a beat too long, and suddenly breathing feels optional.
“Kinsey stopped by earlier,” I manage, voice tight. “She had leftover decorations from the wedding that I can use for craft hour.”
“Still celebrating, huh?”
“Something like that.”
His hand drops, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “Are you working late?”
“Just finishing inventory before summer reading madness kicks in.”
“You want help?”
I snort softly. “You’re volunteering to shelve books?”
“I’m versatile.”
“Hmm. You’re also supposed to be running a T-ball empire.”
“They’ll survive an hour without me.” His smile softens. “Besides, I like watching you work.”
My pulse jumps. “Wells.”
“Yeah?”
“You can’t keep saying things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me forget this is supposed to be simple.”
The air between us tightens. He smells like sunshine and fresh-cut grass, like everything I shouldn’t want.
“You’re tense,” he says, a grin tugging at his mouth. “You sure you don’t want me to carry the rest before you pull something?”
“Maybe I could use the help,” I answer too fast, and he grins wider because he knows he won.
“Tell me where to start, I’m yours to use for thirty minutes.”
I show him the stack of boxes and where they need to go. He nods and moves past me, close enough that my shoulder grazes his chest, and every nerve in my body goes on alert.
By the time we finish stacking boxes, I’ve convinced myself my pulse will never settle again.
He wipes his hands on his jeans, turns to me, and tips his chin. “Mission accomplished.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Anytime, Katie.”
