“I’ve been digging for approximately forty-five seconds.”
“That’s long enough to do it wrong.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Wow. You’re really easing me into this.”
His mouth twitches. Then he stands and reaches for the shovel.
“Show me what you did.”
I hesitate for half a second before handing it over. His fingers brush mine. Just barely. But it’s enough. A small, sharp awareness sparks up my arm and settles somewhere inconvenient. I try to ignore it.
Troy positions the shovel, presses it into the ground with his boot, and leans into it. The blade sinks cleanly. Effortlessly. I cross my arms.
“Show-off.”
He doesn’t respond. Just works the shovel back and forth, loosening the soil in a way that suddenly makes it look … manageable. Maybe the ground isn’t the enemy. It just needed to be handled correctly.
He steps back and hands the shovel to me.
“Your turn.”
I take it. Determined. Focused. Absolutely not thinking about how close he’s standing.
“Okay,” I say. “I can do that.”
I position the shovel the same way he did. Press down. It goes in deeper this time. Not as smooth, but better.
“See?” I say, glancing at him. “Progress.”
He nods once.
“Again.”
I do it again … and again. Each time the ground gives a little more. Each time it gets easier. Somewhere between the third and fifth attempt, I realize I’m not frustrated anymore. I’m engaged. This might actually be something I can figure out. I glance up at him. He’s watching me. Not hovering or correcting. Just observing.
“You’re not going to say anything?” I ask.
“You’re doing it.”
“That’s it?”
“What else do you want?”
I consider that. Then shrug.
“Praise?”
He huffs a quiet breath that might be a laugh.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
I grin despite myself.
“Rude.”
He steps closer again, reaching around me to adjust my grip on the handle. His chest brushes my back. My breath catches. His hand closes over mine for a second, shifting my position.
