Page 10 of Fetch Me A Mate
He liked that. He liked it more than he should have.
He cut a new tread from a salvaged board in the pile. Sawdust lifted into the air, sweet as raw pine. She stood back, watchingthe careful way he measured twice, cut once. When he finished, he handed her a block of sandpaper.
“You can ease the edges,” he said. “Knock off the sharp. Small circles. Light pressure.”
She took the sandpaper with a solemn nod and started in. Her hands moved steady, not tentative. He hovered, ready to correct her grip, then hung back and let her do it. She looked up after a minute, saw him watching, and flushed with pleased color.
“Like this?” she asked.
“Perfect,” he said, and watched the word bring her a little taller.
They set the new tread. He drove the screws while she held the edge firm. Knees brushed. Her sweater brushed his arm again. She didn’t flinch. He didn’t either. He refused to.
“Tell me about shoe molding again,” she said, just to hear him talk. He could tell.
“It hides the gap where the baseboard meets the floor,” he said. “Makes things look finished.”
“I like finished,” she said. “Finished sounds like guests and names in the ledger and people arguing over who gets the last cinnamon roll.”
“Twyla would bake more,” he said, which made Diana laugh.
They moved back to the north wall for the second brace. He handed her the level; she handed him the pencil. The rhythm felt easy now. He forgot he was trying to keep distance until the tape measure came into play again.
“Hold,” he said.
She reached. Fingers brushed. The bond flared a second time, just as bright. The wolf pushed up hard enough to cut his breath, all teeth and claim.Mine.
He set his jaw and anchored the feeling the way he anchored a ladder in a storm: weight down, hands sure, no give. He forced his voice to stay in the safe lane.
“Once we open the outside, I’ll need to check the sill in daylight,” he said. “We can talk about paint after. Porch color too.”
Her eyes lit. “I found a photograph. Robin’s-egg blue.”
He made a noncommittal sound.
“You hate it,” she guessed.
“I don’t hate it,” he said. “I just prefer the porch to look like it belongs to a building that’s been here a long time. But it’s your inn.”
She thought about that, thumb worrying the edge of the clipboard. “What if we found the old color under the trim and used that.”
“That I like,” he said. “Let the past pick the paint.”
“Deal.” She stuck out her hand without thinking. He stared at it for a heartbeat, then took it. Her palm was warm. His wolf surged again.Mine.He let go before he forgot the line he’d drawn for himself.
“I’m going to rip some shims,” he said, a little rough. “You can mark the next brace location. Same spacing.”
“Copy,” she said, and turned to the wall like a soldier receiving orders. It should not have pleased him as much as it did.
He cut shims at the miter saw on the porch, coming back to find her crouched with the level, tongue pressed to the corner of her lip in concentration. The sight nearly undid him. He set the shims down and reached around her to adjust the bubble.
“Little more to the left,” he said, his voice low because it had to be. “There. Hold.”
She held. He set the brace and drove the screws. The wall firmed under his hand, a small victory you could feel, not just see.
“Better,” he said.
She smiled up at him, bright as the work light over their heads. “Better,” she echoed.
