Page 14 of Storytime and Sawdust

"But you're good with your hands," I say. "You speak through what you create. This reading nook says more about who you are than a thousand conversations could."

He looks at me then, really looks at me, with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "Most people don't see it that way."

"Most people don't pay attention." I hold his gaze, wanting him to understand. "But I do."

Something shifts in his expression—a softening around the eyes, a vulnerability I haven't seen before.

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" I say with a small smile. "Me, too much. You, not enough. At least according to everyone else."

"Maybe..." He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe we're exactly as we should be."

The simple statement lands with unexpected weight. I've spent so long trying to tone myself down, to be less, to fit into someone else's idea of acceptable. The thought that I might be exactly right as I am feels revolutionary.

We return to the children's area in silence, both lost in thought. As we gather our belongings, I notice a smudge of midnight blue paint on Cal's cheek—a stark contrast against his tanned skin.

"Hold still," I say, stepping closer. "You've got paint..."

I reach up without thinking, my thumb brushing his cheekbone. His skin is warm, the slight roughness of stubble beneath my fingertips sending a tingle up my arm. Cal goes perfectly still, his eyes never leaving mine.

"There," I whisper, but I don't step back. Can't step back.

His hand comes up slowly, catching my wrist. For one breathless moment, I think he might pull away. Instead, his thumb traces a gentle circle on the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse.

"You have some too," he says, voice low.

"Where?"

His free hand rises to my face, fingers gentle as they brush my cheek. "Right here."

I'm not sure if there's actually paint or if he's creating an excuse to touch me. I don't care. All I know is that we're standing too close, breathing the same air, and the look in his eyes makes me feel both powerful and utterly vulnerable.

"Cal," I whisper, not even sure what I'm asking for.

He leans down, slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. I don't. Instead, I rise on my toes, meeting him halfway.

Our lips are a breath apart when the sharp ding of the service elevator breaks the silence.

We jump apart like guilty teenagers as the doors slide open, revealing Diana with an armful of book returns.

"Oh!" She stops short, eyes widening as she takes in the scene. "Sorry! Didn't realize anyone was still here."

My face burns as I fumble for composure. "Just finishing up the canopy painting. We were, um, cleaning up."

Diana's knowing smile says she doesn't believe me for a second. "It looks amazing. The whole thing does." She nods appreciatively at the reading nook. "You two make quite the team."

Cal clears his throat. "I should go. Early start tomorrow."

"Of course," I say, trying to keep disappointment from my voice. "Same time Thursday? We still need to install the fairy doors."

He nods, already gathering his tools. "Thursday."

Diana busies herself with the book cart, pretending not to watch us. Cal hesitates, then touches my elbow briefly.

"Goodnight, Molly," he says, voice pitched low for only me to hear.

"Goodnight."

I watch him leave, his tall frame disappearing through the children's area doors. The spot on my elbow where his fingers touched feels unnaturally warm.

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