Page 44 of Wrecked

“Got that?” he says.

My brain is hit with the spice of his cologne.

I swallow and nod.

He turns the blade on, and the metal spins rapidly. He lowers our hands as we guide the blade over the wood. The cut is made. He turns the blade off.

“We have to do three more.” Adam puts the wood against the house and grabs another two-by-four. His feet halt as he pauses for a moment. Then, he adds, “I’m gonna guide you for one more, and then you can do it on your own.”

I agree and take the board from him. This time, he lets me adjust the measurements and puts it against the fence of the machine.

He sidles up to me again— closer. His hard chest is against my back, and as I bend over slightly to hold the board, I press gently into his pelvis. He doesn’t move and I don’t try to move him away.

I turn the blade on and let him guide my hand down, like he did before. The cut is made in seconds. As soon as it’s done, he steps away and takes the freshly cut piece with him.

I just stand here.

Still.

He comes back with a third piece and holds it out toward me. “All right, you’re good to go. Let’s get to cutting.”

I do my best not to slice my fingers off. When all the boards are cut, we take them into the house and finish the framing of the closet.

Adam is kneeling on the floor, putting a finishing nail into the wood.

“Hey, Leah.”

I jolt at the sound of my name, nearly dropping my hammer. It’s Rick.

“Toby said you were looking to work with power tools today. We’re gonna install the copper piping for the heating system. If you want to use a blow torch, now’s your turn.”

My fingers are itching to use a torch. I really want to check it out, but I know it’s just going to lead to an argument, and I’m here to work. Not for fun.

“No, thanks. I’m going to finish up here.” I motion to the closet.

“It’s all right,” Adam says.

I look down. He’s squatted below me, his thick thighs splayed out beneath his jeans.

“Go.”

My eyes widen in surprise. He’s letting me out of his sight by choice? And to do something I would find remotely fun?

“I’m okay. This is part of my hundred hours. I’m not here to have a good time.”

“Actually, you are.” He leans an elbow on his thigh. “This isn’t supposed to feel like work. The purpose of volunteering is to enjoy helping others. So, go light something up. Just don’t burn the place down.” He says that last bit with an unintentional smirk.

I smoosh my lips together and nod.

I’m halfway out the door when I back up and look to Adam. “Thanks,” I say.

I am rewarded with a nod of understanding.

Brushing paint onto the front portico of the almost finished home, I hum to myself and enjoy the slight reprieve we’re getting as the sun begins its descent.

It’s peaceful.

Usually, around this time, I’m looking for the next thing to do. Where can I go tonight? What events are we having at the bar? Who’s having a party? Yet, here I am, little Miss Do-Gooder, painting away.