Page 53 of Under Construction

The door opens wider. They spring apart, but not quite fast enough to hide their matching grins, the electricity still crackling between them.

Some risks, Dennis is learning, are worth taking.

*****

But it's not just the physical stuff. Somewhere between stolen kisses and hidden touches, they start... working together. Actually working.

"These load calculations are wrong," Chris says one afternoon, frowning at Dennis’s tablet.

They're having lunch in the office, Chris's feet propped on Dennis’s desk like he belongs there.

"The bamboo can handle more stress than this."

"Teach me."

Chris sits up straighter and pulls the tablet between them. His finger traces along each line as he explains tensile strength and compression loads. "See here? If we account for the cellular structure..."

His voice becomes background music while Dennis watches those work-roughened hands move across the screen. Studies the way Chris's brow furrows in concentration. How his shoulders square with authority when he's talking about something he knows inside and out.

Dennis can’t help but notice that Chris explains complex engineering principles with the same focus he uses to takeDennis apart when they’re alone together. How he makes sustainability sound sexy somehow.

Maybe that’s why Dennis finds himself looking forward to their discussions. To Chris's insights. To how their vision aligns more often than not.

Their shared lunches expand beyond the office.

First it's coffee runs—Chris forcing his syrupy caramel triple-pump vanilla concoctions on Dennis while he chokes down each sip.

"How do you still have teeth with all this sugar?" Dennis grimaces at the cup like it personally offends him. “Dude, it’s literally diabetes in a cup.”

Chris takes a sip of Dennis’s proffered iced Americano—quadruple shot, no sugar—then recoils with his whole face.

"Blech!Says the man drinking liquid tar." Chris hacks like a cat coughing up a hairball, sticking out his tongue.

He eyes Dennis’s cup in horror. "Maybe you’d be sweeter to me if you didn’t drink that godawful crap, princess. No wonder you’re so mean to me!”

They return bearing enough treats to distract the crew—donuts and cookies making everyone conveniently blind to how long they've been gone.

Some days they're not as subtle as they think they are, but happily, sugar seems to have a way of buying silence.

Then it's site walks—innocent brushes evolving into Dennis’s palm dragging across Chris's crotch behind the lumber pile, Chris's fingers digging into the round of Dennis’s ass whenever they duck behind the stacked scaffolding stock to "check measurements."

That's how they find the next kitten.

"Another one?" Chris asks, finding Dennis crouched by the foundation.

A tiny orange face peers out from behind concrete blocks.

"Three," Dennis corrects. "Looks like siblings."

"Shelter again?"

"Unless you've got a better idea."

"Actually..."

Which is how they end up spending their lunch breaks hunting strays across Sacramento.

Chris seems to have a sixth sense for finding them—behind dumpsters, under porches, in abandoned lots.

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