I step back. Grath's arm drops. Cold air rushes between us.
"Minor setback. We'll have it running in five minutes."
"Uh huh. Five minutes. Sure." Nora's grin doesn't fade. "I'll tell everyone to switch to wine meanwhile."
She disappears before I can respond.
I grab a towel. Wipe my face. My arms. Utterly pointless given how soaked my shirt is.
Grath does the same. His shirt clings. Translucent in places. I can see the lines of old scars. The shape of muscle underneath.
Stop looking.
I focus on the tap line. Reattach the coupling. Tighten the clamp. Test it carefully.
Beer flows. Smooth. No leaks.
"There." I straighten up, wiping my hands on the towel one more time. "Crisis averted. No more beer fountain. No more drowning in pilsner."
He's watching me. That steady, direct gaze that makes me feel exposed and seen all at once.
"You're good under pressure." His voice carries that note of honest observation. No flattery. Just fact as he sees it.
I huff a laugh. Toss the damp towel onto the counter. "Don't be fooled. I panic later. Privately. Usually with ice cream and a locked door and possibly some creative swearing."
His mouth quirks. The almost-smile that's becoming familiar. "Secretly falling apart later. I know that one."
He laughs. Genuine. Deep. The sound vibrates through the small space.
I catch myself smiling. Real smiling. The kind that hurts my cheeks.
"We should get back out there."
My voice comes out steadier than I feel. The tap line drips condensation onto the floor between us, each drop marking time in this cramped back room that suddenly feels smaller than it did thirty seconds ago.
"Yeah."
I can hear the muffled sounds of the fundraiser beyond the door. Laughter. The scrape of chairs. Someone's terrible rendition of a holiday carol that died for this. Out there, the world continues. In here, time's gone thick and slow, like honey poured through winter air.
"Maris."
My name in his mouth does something to my pulse. Something I don't want to examine too closely.
"Yeah?"
I force myself to see his eyes. That dark, steady gaze that sees too much. That makes me feel like I'm standing in spotlight and shadow all at once, exposed and protected in the same breath.
"After this. After the fundraiser." He pauses. I watch him search for words, watch the small tells I'm learning to read. The slight tension in his jaw. The way his fingers flex once at his side. "Can we talk? Really talk?"
My heart does something complicated. Flip and squeeze and stutter all at once. A rhythm that feels like panic and hope tangled together, indistinguishable from each other. Like maybe they've always been the same thing.
"About what?"
I know what. Of course I know what. But I need to hear him say it. Need to know I'm not imagining this pull between us, this gravity that keeps drawing me into his orbit no matter how many times I tell myself to step back.
"This." His voice drops lower. "Us. Whatever this is."
The honesty in his voice knocks the air from my lungs. No games. No careful deflection. Just raw truth laid bare between us, sharp-edged and glinting in the fluorescent light. This is what terrifies me about him. Not the size or the scars or the reputation. This. The way he refuses to hide. The way he makes me want to stop hiding too.
