I puff out a breath, relieved that he’s not injured. Stepping around the mess, I examine the shelves. They’re installed directly into the wall in his work room, floor to ceiling. Even in the un-collapsed portion, I can see brackets and braces that are half-broken, worn by time and overdue for replacing.
Nicholas washes his hands at the sink. “I take it you noticed brunch?” he asks.
I turn. “Right. I guess you’re used to the noise.”
“I know all the twice-retired softball players. And a lot of the once-retired and currently playing ones, too. They also tend to show up. I’ll bring over some flowers in a bit. I like to wait until everyone’s had a few beers. They really get enthusiastic about the bouquets when they’re buzzed.”
I grunt out something that sounds half like a laugh.
Makes sense that Nicholas is part of that big happy family. I’m glad he has that, even though an unfamiliar sensation stirs in me. Not jealousy, exactly, and not want. But a stabbing feeling that’s hard to ignore.
“I’ve got brackets from an old project,” I say, my brain refocusing on what’s practical. “They should work for these shelves. Won’t take much time to fix this mess.”
Nicholas blinks. “You’re going to fix the shelves for me?”
There are a million other things I should fix first. But the shelves are in my building, and they’re a mess, and I’m here.
At least I’ll be able to say I got something concrete done today.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Let me get my tools.”
Before he can object, I’m upstairs. Methodically, I get my supplies together. It takes a while to find the brackets in mydisorganized mess, and when I return to the shop, Nicholas has cleaned up most of the destruction.
He’s standing by the counter, tying a trash bag. He’s just in jeans and a t-shirt today, more casual than usual, and without the jacket, I can see his slim arms. The denim clings to his ass and his thighs, and his high-top sneakers are perfectly white and clean.
Nice ass. Firm and round.
Everything I notice makes me want to touch him.
When Nicholas stands up and looks at me, he smiles. It’s that easy, natural smile of his, sweet as fuck.
I need to snap out of it.
“Are you sure you have time for this?” Nicholas asks.
I look down at my tool belt. “Yes,” I say, not leaving room for him to argue.
The physical shelves are in fine condition, and I start by setting them aside and taking down what remains.
“Well, it’s terribly nice of you,” he says as he leans back on his work table. “Let me at least send you home with a vase of flowers to say thanks.”
Heat flushes across my face. No one has ever given me flowers. “Sure,” I manage, and glance at him. “You always come in on Sundays?”
“It’s when I plan the week ahead.”
I grunt. “I’m used to working long hours, too.”
Where the shelves once were, a wall of mismatched hardware and supports now faces me. I grab my hammer and decide to start with the nails first. As I pry one out, Nicholas continues talking.
“Floristry can be exhausting,” he admits. “Although not quite as physically taxing as carpentry, I’m sure.”
I yank out another nail. “It’s satisfying to work hard. And at least I sleep well.”
Nicholas laughs warmly. “There’s that,” he says.
I keep my attention on the wall, working up a sweat as I crank out old, twisted nails. All the while, Nicholas busies himself behind me. I see him writing on a notepad, sorting through a drawer, and occasionally dipping out into the shop to mess with the flowers.
The last nail clatters to the floor. I catch his eye across the shop. “It will be loud for a minute,” I say as I take out my drill.
