Page 29 of His Hot Mess

I also learned something—Sadie liked to have her way and needed to have the option to do things herself. But when she was ready, she also liked having someone else take over. As we neared the end of our shopping trip, she was practically skipping alongside me. Asking me what that tool was for, and that. Why there were so many different kinds of screws. When she wasn’t asking questions, she told me about the town she and Lucy grew up in and some of the ridiculous situations she’d gotten herself into as a child. Like when she’d blacked out after jumping from the swing-set at full height. Or when she’d gotten stuck up a tree when trying to dare Lucy to go up with her.

“Do you ever take things slow?” I asked as I began loading the bigger pieces of lumber up onto my truck.

“Never,” she said, with a hint of pride in her voice. She thumped a bucket of screws up into the bed next to me, making the lid pop off. At least a hundred screws scrabbled across the bed of the truck.

“Oops.”

I stifled a laugh and began cleaning up the mess.

“Let me help,” Sadie said, hopping up into the bed. She scooped up screws next to me, humming while she worked.

Today, I realized, was one of the best days I’d had in a long time.

A really long time.

I might have been content with that. Just being with her. Except then we each brought our hands towards the bucket at the same time and our skin brushed together. The electric jolt that shot through my hand was so intense I lost my handful of screws and they clattered all over the truck bed.

I’d spent so much time looking at Sadie, I was shocked to realize we’d never actually touched before. How could an innocent touch be so potent?

When I looked over at her, she was staring at me. She looked away quickly, sliding off the tailgate.

“Can I help you with these last ones?” she asked, indicating the broad strips of rough-edged wood I was going use as false beams on the ceiling.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“No really, I want to help.”

Even though it would be easier to do it myself, I gave a nod, remembering how much she wanted to be a part of this. “Okay. How about you get up there and I’ll lift the bottom end.”

I knew if I stood on the ground with her in the truck, I’d be able to carry most of the weight. Sadie’s job would be to guide the beam into place, lining it up on top of the other pieces. But I underestimated how heavy they would still be up top, and as we moved the first length of lumber, she stumbled a little as I guided it in.

“You okay?”

“Totally,” she said, springing forward and holding her hands out for the next piece.

We found our rhythm after that, loading up one piece after the other. By the end, my upper body was burning with the exertion, and Sadie was looking weary, despite me doing my best to shoulder the bulk of the weight.

“I’ll need to try to squeeze these last few pieces in where you’re standing,” I said. “Easier if I do it myself.”

I thought she would argue but she nodded, looking relieved.

I reached for the one of the last lengths of lumber from the cart and hoisted it onto my shoulder.

Sliding it into the back with a grunt, I dusted my hands on my pants and turned for the last piece of wood, glancing at Sadie as I turned.

She was standing next to the tailgate, and quickly looked down when she felt my eyes on her.

She’d been looking at me—or more specifically, at my body. I looked down to see if I’d gotten a grease stain on my shirt or something. There was nothing there. But as I shifted, my muscles flexed with the wood.

My stomach did a little jump. She’d been staring at me.Oglingme.

A burst of something primitive spread over me. I flexed my arms harder.

It was stupid. But I still did it. Lifting the last piece I couldn’t help hot-dogging a little, tossing it so it spun into a different position.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye but couldn’t see where she was looking.

After chucking it in the truck, I turned back to the cart and tensed my arms slightly for effect. Then the wood next to me moved and I heard a little squeal.

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