I want to see her.
Without people hovering over us or working on the house.
Just…her.
She stops at the middle of the steps, looking down at her phone and sending a message. She looks from the street andback to her phone as if she’s waiting for someone. Jealousy roars to life for no damn reason.
I step outside, and the closer I get to the stairs, my stupid heart reacts like it’s hearing its favorite song. She looks like she’s dressed to go out—hair down straight, falling over her shoulders. She’s wearing a pair of tight jeans and a flowy brown tank top tucked into the front of them. The colors aren’t as vibrant as the day I met her, but even muted, she’s still…bright.
“Hey,” I say, stopping a safe distance from her.
It startles her, and she snaps her head up, hand flying to her chest. “Christ, Tucker. You scared the shit out of me.”
“I thought you heard me coming. My boots are never quiet.”
“I guess you’re right.” She smiles, body relaxing. “I was busy reading a text from Lily that she’s running late.”
“That sounds about right for her.” I laugh. “Are you…heading out?”
I don’t know why I paused asking her that. I’m not entirely sure I have the right to know what she’s doing. But a deeper part of me wants her to stay, when my heart is screaming to let her go. It’s screaming to not to get too close.
She nods, taking one more step down. “We’re going to Seven Stools for some dinner and drinks. I thought you’d be working.”
I try not to read too much into that.
Did she want to see me tonight?
“I’ve been demoted to the guy who stays home and cooks. Griffin forced me to take the night off.”
Her brow furrows. “This is the second night off for you since I’ve been here.”
I shrug like it’s not a big deal.
But inside? It makes my heart beat double time that she notices.
“You work a lot,” she adds, studying me in that way she’s started doing lately, like she’s trying to figure out what’s underneath my jokes. “It might make someone think you’re running from something.”
It lands harder than it should.
I hold her gaze for half a second too long before forcing a crooked smile. “Or maybe I just really enjoy my own cooking.”
She doesn’t smile back.
“Why do you do that?” she asks, eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side as she makes her way to the bottom step of the stairs. “Why do you always hide behind jokes?”
Her question catches me off guard because she doesn’t say it accusingly, she says it like she’s genuinely curious. I huff out a quiet laugh and glance away from her. The idea of letting her see that? It kicks my heart rate up a notch.
“If I stop joking,” I say, bringing my eyes back to hers. “Then people start to see the parts of me I can’t fix. The cracks that don’t sand smooth. The stuff duct tape doesn’t hold or spackle won’t cover.” I swallow, wanting to look away but I can’t. “I know how to fix houses, but I don’t know how to fix people. Especially myself.”
Something softens in her expression and I see the faintest smile form on her lips. She steps toward me, stopping in front of me. “Maybe you don’t have to fix everything.”
“That thought keeps me up at night.”
The words hang thick between us, and neither of us looks away. Her eyes keep searching mine for a better answer. She wants the truth I don’t let anyone close enough to see.
The words sit on the tip of my tongue to ask her to come inside, and ask her to skip dinner with Lily and stay here with me. I want to pretend it’s casual, but I know better. Not with the way she’s still looking at me, and not with the way my chest tightens at the thought of choosing a night with her over working at the bar for once.
This is the moment I should crack a joke and keep things easy.
