Page 37 of No Contest
I crouched down to check the construction because looking at how he'd built things was safer than looking at him.
"You made this?"
"Basic carpentry."
Dovetails. No wobble. Corners so perfect they looked machine-cut. "This is more than basic. You made it with care."
His cheeks flushed. "It's just a shelf."
"No. It's not." I stood and moved into the kitchen before I said something embarrassing about how much I liked watching him work. Spotted the pegboard on the wall—every tool outlined in marker—hammer, level, tape measure, all hanging precisely where they belonged.
My apartment had a junk drawer I hadn't opened in six months because I feared what lived inside.
"You know where everything goes."
"Makes it easier to find things."
I ran my finger along one of the outlines. "You made this pegboard. Outlined every tool." I lowered my voice. "That's not only organization. That's giving a shit."
He stared at the pegboard. "Someone has to."
"Rhett."
He looked up. "What?"
Say it. Don't say it. Say something.
"Watching you work—" I stepped closer. There was the smell of cedar again and the cool scent of Lake Superior. "It does things to me."
His mouth opened slightly. "What kind of things?"
Fuck. Now I had to explain.
"How your hands move, and how focused you get." I was right in front of him now. "Making that shelf. Setting up those cones.You measure everything twice." I raised my hand and brushed his jaw with my fingertips. "It's hot."
"I'm making hot chocolate." His voice came out rough, and heat shot straight through me.
"I know. That's sexy, too."
He turned toward the stove and pulled out a saucepan. I followed. When he reached for the milk, my chest brushed his back, and he froze.
I probably should have stepped back and given him space. Instead, I leaned against the counter and watched his hands.
"You always this precise?"
"Do it right, or do it twice."
He whisked chocolate into the heating milk—small pieces melting smoothly, vanilla and salt added with the same careful attention he probably gave the dovetail joints.
"Can I tell you something?" I asked.
"Sure."
"You give a shit about getting it right even when no one's watching. Even when it's only hot chocolate." I moved closer. "That's choosing. You've been choosing all along—how to build things, fix things, and make something good instead of just good enough."
He poured his hot chocolate into mugs, hands shaking slightly. Topped them with whipped cream and handed me one.
I took a sip. It left whipped cream clinging to my beard. "This is perfect." I couldn't help but think about Rhett's precision in bed.
