“Damn, Vince,” Oliver calls from behind me. “You moving underwater today or what?”
The comment isn’t mean. Not even close. But it grinds something inside me anyway. I draw in a breath through my nose before answering.
“Didn’t sleep much. I’m fine.”
I slip through the swinging door before they can say anything else, hyper-aware of everything now—the lights, the noise, thelingering irritation. I try to shake it off, but it sticks to me like glue.
I hate that people are noticing. Hate that I’m slowing down. That my damn body keeps betraying me in these small, humiliating ways. Soon, I won’t even recognize myself.
An hour later, I’m hauling a box of liquor to the bar when a loud pounding comes from the front door. We still have an hour before opening, so I ignore it. But when it pounds again, harder this time, I grumble a complaint and wander over.
Fletcher stands there, blond hair soaked from the rain and looking miserable. He points to the lock, pleading through the glass, “Let me in.”
I turn the lock and open the door a few inches, prepared to ask him what he needs, but Fletcher pushes right past me into the entry. He shudders and shakes his hair out, causing cold droplets to hit my face. It feels amazing, even if it makes me acutely aware of how overheated I am.
“It’s really coming down,” Fletcher says, glancing outside.
I bite back my annoyance. “We’re closed.”
“I know. I’m here to talk to Declan.”
I narrow my eyes.
He reveals a plastic clipboard from inside his jean jacket. “He asked for a quote to remodel the restrooms, so I told him I’d come by before you opened today to drop it off.”
“Oh.”
He brushes a hand over his long beard, gaze holding mine for a beat. His smile is so simple and soft, as if he’s genuinely glad to see me. Warmth spreads through me when his gaze travels down my body. “You look good today. Relaxed or something. Feeling better, I take it?”
I look away, ashamed of these damn pants. “Declan is in his office. I’m assuming you know where that is?”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll be out of here in a few.” He claps me gently on the shoulder before walking away. The touch lingers long after he disappears from view.
I return to unloading the boxes, but move a little faster. Two seconds with me and Fletcher had caught my unusual change of clothes. His attention isn’t nosy—more like he’s tuned in without even trying. It makes me uncomfortable.
Makes me feel something else I don’t want to think too hard about either.
I notice his footsteps long before he turns the corner, and force my attention on anything but him. But Fletcher stops in front of me, gliding a calloused hand along the wood.
“I’ll probably be in later with the crew. So, see you then?”
It’s an innocent question, yet it makes my heart flutter. Oliver is ten feet away, yet Fletcher had directed that question at me. He’s singling me out. Why?
“Uh, sure.”
Fletcher’s eyes soften. “Good.”
The rest of the day drags, partly because I’m exhausted and partly because that quick run-in with Fletcher unsettled me. The memory of his hand on my shoulder stays with me far longer than it should.
At seven o’clock, Fletcher returns with a few of his co-workers. The guy in front of him bumps me on the way by, and my damn leg cramps. I catch myself on the wall, gritting my teeth through the pain.
The whole thing lasts maybe two seconds, yet Fletcher sees it. He steps around his co-worker to catch my arm, mouth parted as if he’s halfway to asking if I’m alright. But then he stops and lets go.
My cheeks flame red.
I expect him to walk away, but he doesn’t. Fletcher lowers his voice. “Is everything okay, Vince?”
I look away, rolling my shoulder. I’d hit it hard against the wall. “I’m fine.”
