The joist is exactly where I marked it when I hung the temporary light.
I know this because I double-checked it twice. I’m not stupid.
I locate the joist, mark the drill point with a pencil, and start working. The entryway is quiet except for the sounds of the house breathing around me and the whir of my drill. Old wood, old plaster, the creak of the ladder when I shift my weight to reach slightly left. I find the angle I need, lean into it, and for a minute, everything is fine.
Then theladder shifts beneath me.
It’s subtle at first. Just a small slide, the base shifts a little on the hardwood, my foot skidding along the newly polished floor. Then the ladder shifts more. I react quickly, grabbing the rung above me with my free hand as the whole ladder rocks once under me.
There’s one terrible moment when I lose my grip and reach out, grasping only air, my heart jumping into my throat.
As the ladder slips but doesn’t fall, I lose my balance and start to fall.
It tips just enough. Just that one slow, terrible degree. I lunge for the only thing I can reach, the banister rail on the staircase landing. My hands close around it. The ladder clangs sideways into the wall. I’m left hanging, feet swinging, the chandelier bracket swinging from my wrist by its loop. Both palms grip weathered wood like it’s the only thing in the world. Because it is.
“Falon.”
I hear Bo’s voice from somewhere below me, then the screen door hitting the wall, Rowdy’s nails scrambling on the porch boards, and Bo’s boots crossing the entryway floor in about four long strides. Rowdy’s nails skid in behind him, and he crashes into the fallen ladder with a clang that echoes off every wall in the entryway.
“I’m fine,” I say immediately.
“You’re hanging from a banister.”
“I have a good grip,” I say breathlessly.
A pause. “You’re fourteen feet off the floor.”
“I am fully, painfully, aware of how ridiculous I look right now,” I squeak out, internally praying I’ll dissolve into the floor before Bo can comment.
Another pause, shorter. “You can let go. I’ve got you.”
Ilook down. He’s directly below me, both arms up, steady.
“I can’t.” My voice squeaks again.
“Yes, you can.”
“Nope.” My voice comes out teary this time. “It’s too far. I’ll break your… something.”
“Falon Williams.” His voice is calm and certain. “You are going to let go, and I am going to catch you. I promise.”
My grip is failing. My hands burn. I know I can’t hold on like this for too much longer.
My grip finally slips, and I let go and let out a squeal as I fall into Bo’s arms.
Bo catches me easily. His arms close around my waist. My back hits his chest, and we both absorb the landing. His knees bend. His arms tighten around me. A low sound between a grunt and pure relief exhales from him. For a second, neither of us moves. My feet find the floor.
His arms don’t leave as I take in a few shaky breaths.
I am very aware of exactly where his hands are.
One at my waist. Another just below my ribs. His warmth seeps through my shirt. My heart is still hammering, but it’s not from the fall. It’s because every fiber of my being is very aware of the tingling sensation his firm hold has on me. I should step forward, put some air between us, and act like a normal person. You know, the type who doesn’t squeal into a man’s arms from fourteen feet up.
But I can’t move. I don’t want to.
With a quiet, almost resigned exhale, Bo’s hands slide from my waist to my arms, checking me over in that steady, methodical way of his. I miss the warmth of his arms immediately. More than I want to admit. I’ve crossed the friend line in my head, and now, I can’t even see where it is.
Rowdy plants himself directly in front of us and barksonce. I jump at the loud sound. And Bo’s grip on my arms tightens just enough to let me know he still has me.
