“Oh.”
“But…” Nico continues, finally looking at me. My stomach is in knots, but there’s a determination on his face that gives me a little bit of hope. “It would be safer to wait until the ground is less wet.”
The relief I feel is almost comical. I don’t think I was this relieved when I opened my college acceptance letter. “Yeah. Yes. Absolutely. We should wait until it’s safer.”
Nico blows out a breath, and his shoulders relax with it. “Good. We, uh, probably have a week until the road is clear enough that people could drive up it.”
Right. Because we can’t put this off forever—only until people can call us out on it.
A week. It’s better than it could be.
I grab bowls from the cabinet, and we move around each other, perfectly in sync, as I serve breakfast and Nico makes tea. Every time he passes me, his hands graze me. And every time, I feel his touch from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
We sit across from each other, but I lift my feet, resting my legs on his lap while we eat. Nico eats one-handed so he can rest the other on my shin.
“I have some work to do today, and I could use an extra set of hands if you’re up for it,” he says, and I frown over my cup.
“You trust me to help you with work stuff? One time, I took a pottery class and broke the pottery wheel. I’m not good with my hands.”
“I beg to differ on that last part,” Nico replies, and my cheeks flush. “And of course I trust you. You can handle rubbing some stain over a tabletop. Or you could just come read in the workshop.”
I smile into my oatmeal. “If you want to spend time with me, you can just say that.”
He squeezes my foot. “I want to spend time with you.”
I was planning on forcing my company on him anyway today, if not every day. There’s no chance I’m wasting any time we have left together.
“I can probably handle staining a tabletop. How catastrophic will it be if I fuck it up?”
He laughs, the vibrations ricocheting up my leg. “It’s very hard to fuck up. But on the off chance you do, I can fix it. There’s very little you can’t fix when it comes to wood.”
I can’t stop the smirk that curves my lips. “God. The jokes really do write themselves.”
Turns out, even I can manage to wipe a sponge soaked in what smells like straight-up gasoline over a piece of wood. Nico failed to mention that the tabletop in question was the beautiful mixed-wood piece he’s been working on since before I got here. But as nervous as I was with the first swipe of stain, everything is fine. It has a built-in chessboard on one side, a regular dining table on the other, and Nico has designed a fancy hinge mechanism to allow the owners to flip it easily. It’s heading to a family up in Canada when it’s finished, and Nico is also making a set of matching chess pieces that will live in a hidden drawer. He’s so unbelievably talented, and it’s nice to think of some kidsgrowing up a thousand miles away, making memories with something he made here.
“Looks good, angel,” he says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around me. I’m not complaining, but since we talked last week about what would happen when I left, he’s been a lot touchier than he was before. And he’s only gotten more so since this morning. I’m a big fan.
“I think that has more to do with your table-making skills than my staining skills.”
“A team effort,” he corrects, pulling a rag from his tool belt and wiping a brown speck from my hand before it stainsme.
I drop the sponge in the box he keeps beside his workbench of old rags and sponges, and turn to him, just for him to back me up against the bench.
“Thank you for helping.”
His eyes are dark and focused on me, and his cock is pressing against my stomach.If this is my reward…“Anytime.”
“I have something for you.”
“I can feel that.”
He rolls his eyes. “Not that,” he says, stepping away.
What the fuck?Yes that.
Nico slides open a drawer and pulls something out, laughing when he turns back and sees my expression. “Quit pouting,” he says, tapping my lips. “You can have that later.” Better. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
I raise a brow but do as I’m told. Something small but weighty lands in the palm of my hand, and I automaticallyclose my fingers around it. I can tell it’s wood, with some kind of cool metal.
