"Yes."
"For the team's mural artist."
"Is there a problem?"
"No, sir. Just confirming."
The crew gathered their equipment and departed, leaving him alone with his obsessive improvements. He walked the perimeter of the work area, checking sight lines and temperature zones. Everything was exactly as he'd planned. When Edie arrived—soon, based on her usual schedule—she would find her workspace transformed. Warm, well-lit, and optimized for her comfort and productivity.
She would probably ask questions. He would deflect. Blame facilities. Claim ignorance. She would see through him immediately. But she wouldn't say anything, because she had a gift for understanding what people weren't ready to discuss.
She'd accept the lights and the heaters with that warm smile that made his lungs forget how to work, and she'd go back to painting, and she wouldn't force him to admit what he was doing.
What he was becoming.
Pathetic,he thought.I’m completely pathetic.
But he couldn't stop.
The door at the far end of the arena opened, and his entire body went alert. He knew it was her before he saw her—something about the way she moved, light and chaotic, her footsteps never quite even. Then she appeared around the corner, coffee cup in hand, wearing one of his hoodies over her paint-splattered overalls. The hoodie dwarfed her, the hem nearly reaching her knees, the sleeves rolled up three times to free her hands.
She looked ridiculous. She looked perfect.
"Oh!" She stopped dead, staring at the transformed workspace. "What—when did?—"
"Facilities upgrade," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Approved last week."
"Last week? But I was here last night, and there was definitely no—" She gestured at the gleaming LED panels. "Professional lighting situation."
"Overnight installation. More efficient."
"More efficient." She repeated the words slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Uh-huh."
She knows,he thought.Of course she knows.
But as he suspected, she didn't press. Instead, she walked to her scaffolding, set down her coffee, and tilted her face up towards the lights.
"These are really nice," she said softly.
"Standard equipment."
"Sure they are." She turned to look at him, and her expression was soft and knowing and almost sad. "Thank you, Tarmek."
"I didn't?—"
"Thank you."
He stopped trying to deflect.
"You're welcome."
She smiled at him—not the playful grin she used for teasing, but something more vulnerable. Then she climbed up the scaffolding and started preparing her paints, humming something off-key under her breath. He stood there for longer than was reasonable, watching her work in the warm, well-lit space he'd created for her.
Mate,his instincts whispered again.
Yes,he finally admitted to himself.Yes, she is.
Now he just had to figure out how to keep her.
