Tomorrow, Isla will miss me, but she’s used to that. She’s learned how to deal with me being gone. But Lucy? Hell, I don’t know how this thing works with her. How long is she going to keep showing up and finding something in us worth sticking around for when I’m gone all the time?
The thought of Lucy slipping away nearly knocks the wind out of me. I shove the notion down and force my focus back to what I’m working on. That’s the only thing that’s ever made sense, anyway. Fix what’s in front of me, do my part, and hope to god it’ll be enough this time.
I’m so deep in my head that I almost don’t hear the creak of the attic stairs. Lucy pops up through the trapdoor.
“Thought you might need a break,” she says, lifting a thermos. “I made some tea.”
I set the hammer down and swipe the back of my hand across my brow, smearing sweat and sawdust together. I probably look rough, sweat soaked and grime streaked. “Thanks,” I mumble.
She makes her way across the attic, careful with each step, weaving around the stacks of old boxes and forgotten furniture. When she finally reaches me, she hands over the thermos, her fingers skimming mine just long enough to send a sharp jolt through me.
“You look like you’ve been through a war up here.”
I crack the lid open, the steam carrying the tea’s scent into the stale air. “Feels like it,” I mutter, taking a sip. The warmth settles low in my stomach, but it’s got nothing on the heat rising the second I realize she’s still looking at me.
Her gaze lingers at first, almost like she doesn’t mean to get caught. Yet she doesn’t look away. Her cheeks go a little pink, and she tucks a loose strand of hair away as her eyes drift over the sweat clinging to my skin, the dust smudged across my forearm.
She tilts her head, offering a small, uncertain smile. “You, um… You clean up nice, I bet. Not that you need to. I just mean…” Her words knot together, and she bites her lip. “It suits you. The whole…hardworking thing.”
I lift a brow, sip my tea, and let a smirk tug at my mouth. Watching her scramble for footing is kind of cute.
“I’ll have you know, I clean up just fine.”
She laughs softly, and the sound echoes in the cramped space, making everything feel a little less dusty, a little less worn. “I don’t doubt it for a second.”
I take another sip, watching her over the rim of the thermos. She looks out of place up here, too bright for all this darkness.
Lucy shifts her weight, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “So…you’ll be gone for three weeks this time?”
I nod, setting the thermos down on a nearby box. “Yeah. Longer rotation.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at me with those eyes that see too much. Then, “We’ll miss you.”
She reaches up, brushing a bit of dust from my shoulder, her touch lingering for a moment before she pulls back. I stare at the empty space where her hand was, and I hate how much I already miss it.
“Lucy,” I rasp, but she’s already stepping back, her hand falling casually to her side.
“You better finish up before the rain starts.”
Just like that, she’s gone, and I’m left standing here with my heart pounding and no idea what to do with the ache she’s left in her wake.
Lucy…Jesus. She’s been chipping away at my resolve, bit by bit. I don’t know what this is between us because we haven’t put a name to it. All I know is my hands itch to touch her when she’s close, her smile makes something in my chest crack open, and that three weeks away from her is going to feel like a lifetime.
I finish up just as the first drops of rain start to tap against the roof. By the time I head downstairs, everything I didn’t want to feel is shoved back into its box.
I round the corner into the living room, and whatever calm I thought I had scatters.
Lucy’s sitting on the floor, legs folded beneath her, surrounded by a sea of colored pencils and half-finished drawings. Isla’s hunched over, her face scrunched in fierce concentration as she drags a crayon across the page. Lucyleans in close and points at something on the paper, her voice full of gentle praise.
Fuck, if that doesn’t make me want her even more.
I stand there for a moment, frozen, just watching them. Lucy’s hair falls in soft waves around her face as she bends over the drawing, and for a split second, all I want to do is reach out and run my fingers through it. Then she looks up, catches my eye, and that smile—god, that smile—grows even wider.
“Daddy!” Isla squeals. “I made you something!”
“Did you now? What is it?”
She thrusts the paper toward me, beaming with pride. “It’s for when you’re on the big boat. So you don’t forget us.”
