Page 9 of Fetch Me A Mate
“Hold,” he said.
“Holding.”
He drilled into the cleat and liked the bite of sound wood grabbing the screw. Progress. Order. Useful things.
“Rowan,” she said after a bit, “how do you know where the trouble lives just by listening?”
He set down the drill and pressed his palm flat to the wall again. “Old buildings talk. Some groans mean they’re settling happy. Some mean they want help.” He glanced at her. “You ever pick up a feeling in a room, even when no one’s in it?”
Her mouth rounded with a soft laugh. “You have no idea.”
He did, actually. He felt it every time she walked close and the air seemed to lean toward her.
“Take the tape again,” he said, voice flat to hide the thought. “We need a second brace.”
She moved closer. Their fingers met for a second time. His pulse kicked hard and even. The wolf inside him set a pace, circling, restless and ready. He kept his expression neutral and talked hardware.
“We’ll need new shoe molding,” he said. “This piece is done.”
“I like the name,” she said. “Shoe molding. It sounds friendly.”
“Friendly is not usually how I’d describe trim,” he said, and her smile bloomed like he’d given her more than a line.
A knock came at the open door. Miriam leaned in with two paper cups. “Tea for the boss and coffee for the muscle.” She handed Rowan the coffee without waiting to be told which was which. “How’s my patient?”
“Stable,” Rowan said. “Better after lunch.”
“Then don’t skip it,” Miriam replied, eyes dancing. “I made a stew. It’s sitting in my oven. Diana, grab it around noon. Feed that man.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Diana said, which seemed to please Miriam more than any promise about paint colors.
When Miriam left, the room quieted again. Rain had stopped. The square outside sent in the soft shuffle of day. Rowan slotted a brace and let his weight push it into place.
“You okay?” Diana asked, watching him. “You went quiet.”
“I’m at work,” he said. “I’m usually quiet.”
“I can be quiet too,” she said. She barely lasted five seconds before she added, “Except when I hum.”
He looked up. “Noticed.”
“Is it annoying?”
“No.” That came out faster than he meant. He cleared his throat. “It tells me when you’re thinking hard.”
“I’m thinking hard a lot,” she said. “There’s a lot of new to learn.”
“You’ll learn it,” he said, and meant it.
She hummed again, a small thread of sound as she marked the board. He kept his breath even, controlled. It felt like trying not to step on a rug that kept sliding under his boots.
They shifted to the stair landing. He pulled the third tread, set it aside, and showed her the split running on the diagonal. “See this? That hairline crack is how she tells you she’s tired.”
“She,” Diana echoed, amused. “Of course the stairs are girls.”
He gave the underside of the tread a knuckle tap. “We’ll replace this one. The rest can be reinforced.”
“Good,” she said, then lowered her voice. “I’m getting attached. I don’t want to rip out more than we have to.”
