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“I don’t know about that.” She looked uneasy, and I gave a low laugh.

“Where did all that mighty confidence go, huh? I thought you could take care of yourself and didn’t need anyone looking out for you,” I reminded her.

Her mouth pulled taut. Now she knew where I was going with this. But the funny thing about women like Ava, is that I’d met enough of them to know they hated admitting defeat, and there were few things they loved more than a challenge. I was dangling both in front of her, and if I had my bets right, I knew she’d take me up on it.

Her eyes gave away her decision before her mouth did. She gave a quick, resolute little nod. “Okay then. What do I do?”

I handed her the toolkit and walked further out on the dock, dropping into a deep squat over the jagged hole. Ava followed, still a little hesitant but pushing herself to follow my exact footsteps.

I laid the plank over the cavity, overlapping the solid joists underneath.

“We’re not doing a full rebuild today,” I told her, gesturing with my thumb at the dark water visible through the gaps. “You always find the sound timber first. If you try to anchor a new board into dry rot, the structural hold is zero and you’ll just plunge right back in the second you step on it.”

She nodded, and from the wide but perceptive look in her eyes, I could tell she was actually listening to what I was saying. She came closer and crouched down beside me. Our arms brushed as I adjusted the plank. The scent of her fruity body wash filled my nose, and I had to clear my throat to sharpen my focus.

I nodded at the toolkit in her hand. “There’s a hammer and a couple three-inch siding nails in there. I’ll line the patch up for you, and you secure it. Got it?”

“Sounds simple enough,” she said, but the nervous tremor in her breath said otherwise. “I just… drive the nails in, right?”

“Exactly,” I said, and I felt her bristle against the condescending tone of my voice. “Easy peasy.”

She narrowed her eyes at me but said nothing else as she dug into the kit to retrieve the tools. I guided her verbally through where to place the first nail, then told her to watch her hands and drive it home.

But from the get-go, it was obvious she had no idea how to even hold a hammer the right way. She gripped it right beneath the metal head, choking up too high to deliver any real force, and held her arm too rigid with her elbow flared awkwardly sideways. I bit back the laugh that crept into my throat, then felt it genuinely gutter out when she made her first frantic wrist-flick-tap-bullshit and bent the nail.

“Okay, pause,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re strangling the handle. I mean, damn it, you’re treating it like a fly swatter.”

“Don’t put pressure on me, I’m trying,” she grit out through clenched teeth. “I’m only doing this in the first place because I owe you one. Not to showcase my marvelous DIY skills.”

I snickered. “I’ll say.”

But at the risk of losing all my nails, I decided to give her a more practical demonstration. I slipped behind her and wrapped one of my hands over the one that held the hammer. I was careful not to press myself against her, but our arms were making full contact and I could feel her body heat. And that scent…

“Keep your elbow tucked and lower your grip on the handle. Like this,” I said, sliding her fingers all the way down to the base. “This is where the leverage is. You let the weight of the head do the work for you and commit to the downstroke.”

I led her through a simulated hammer swing. “Feel the difference?”

“Yeah. Kind of,” she murmured softly. “Are you gonna charge me for these lessons or does it come with the renovation bill? Seeing as I’m doing the work myself.”

“Hitting air,” I shot back, reaching around her to line up a new nail. Now my body made a cage around hers. I left enough room for her to slip out if she was uncomfortable. But if I hadn’t imagined it, I could’ve sworn that she leaned back into my chest for just a fraction of a second.

I lowered my mouth to her ear. “When you’re ready, hit it. And try to watch out for my fingers, will you?”

She laughed low in her throat, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. “This was your idea. Keep that in mind if I end up missing the mark, just a tad.”

I swallowed hard, silently bracing myself. Ava made a clean strike. I closed my eyes.

She hit the nail. My fingers were fine.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and she giggled as though aware of exactly what she was doing. She swung again, her arc now less awkward. And even though she needed to work on her force application, her aim and technique were much better.

“That’s it,” I murmured, a small flicker of pride hitting my chest. “Think you can do the rest by yourself?”

“I can try,” she answered, turning her head and giving me a genuine smile.

I froze. “Okay, then.”

We worked in silence for a bit, our fingers and hands touching now and again as I adjusted the position of the nails or helped keep the plank secure for her. I watched her, saw the strands of golden hair slip from her ponytail and stick to her flushed neck as her face screwed up in concentration.