He laughs, then has me scoot aside as he wrestles the lid the rest of the way off. He leans it against the wall before resting his hands on the edge of the crate, eyeing its contents.
I set the crowbar down on the table with a clank. Caeo jolts, glancing up at me.
“What’s next?” I ask.
“Um… we check for damage, then sort by color. Store them in the cubbies.”
“You don’t sound sure about that.”
He huffs a sigh, then runs his hand through his dark hair. “Sorry, I guess I’m distracted.”
My throat tightens. “Is it me? I can go—I don’t want to be a problem.”
“What? No.” He steps closer, taking my hands as he leans against the crate. “Why do you always doubt yourself so much?”
Do I?My gaze drops to his fingers, rubbing softly against mine. “I… I suppose I don’t have much experience doing things on my own. It’s always been following whatever my father said. I’m worried I’ll make a mistake.”
“What’s so bad about that? It happens to everyone.”
I shrug, still avoiding his eyes. “But what if people don’t forgive them? I messed up, trying to fix things with Sophie. I think she hates me.”
Caeo brings his hand to my face, tilting my chin up. “I don’t know who that is, but anyone who makes you feel bad about yourself isn’t worth your time.”
“I can tell myself that all I want, but it still hurts.”
He runs his fingers along my hairline, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. “I know. But you’re a good person. You’re kind, and you care. They’ll see that. You just have to get more comfortable dealing with people. I can help.”
All those words… Tears well in my eyes. No one, outside of my mom, has ever said anything like that before. To see more in me than simply being my father’s successor. To want to help me bemore.
He leans closer, his lips tracking toward mine. The moment’s perfect, his tender words pulling me to him. His breath warms my skin, and I tilt my mouth up to meet him…
Against everything, I pull back, my breath snagging in my throat. “No.”
Caeo blinks, retreating slightly. “No?”
“I promised myself I wouldn’t kiss you. I’m here to help.”
“That’s not fair,” he says, despite the smile breaking through. “I didn’t agree to that.”
The words fall out before I think. “Sounds like your problem.”
Caeo winces. “Ouch. Ellie’s got sass.” My lungs compress beneath a worry I overstepped, but he brings my fingers to his lips, planting a kiss on them. “I like it.”
My heart swells, then he pulls me with him over to the crate.
Our legs press together as he shows me how to unroll about a couple feet of each bolt, checking for damage—the very first one has a brownish stain along its edge, and he has me set it aside. The next one passes inspection, so he rolls it back up and puts it on the floor, explaining that once we have them sorted by color, we’ll move them into the cubbies.
He lifts a bolt of periwinkle cotton, examining its edges, and the swash of coral pink beneath it catches my eye. I pull it out, running my fingers along its soft edges as I check for fraying.
“That’s a good color for you,” Caeo says, bringing the end up to my face. “Matches your blushes.”
My cheeks burn as I pull it free from his hands.
Ching.
A bell rings with the scraping of the door behind us. Caeo’s body tenses where he presses into my side, spiking my nerves.
It’s his mom. Her lips press together before curling into a smile.
