Page 22 of The Contractor's Rose
You’re evil.
GAVIN
You started it.
Now I’m gonna be hard all night, thanks to that little shirt of yours.
I couldn’t stop smiling. My body ached, but my heart felt full—like this was something real, something dangerous and beautiful and entirely ours.
ME
Goodnight, Gavin.
GAVIN
Goodnight, Rose. Sweet dreams.
Try not to miss me too much.
Too late.
I already did.
TWELVE
GAVIN
I walkedinto the shop after a long day on-site. The smell of cedar clung to my clothes—the product of framing a new build—and the ache in my shoulders was deep and familiar. The sun had dipped low behind the trees by the time I pulled into the no parking zone spot in front of the shop, casting a honeyed glow over the cracked pavement outside. I was exhausted, coated in a thin layer of sawdust and sweat, but none of that mattered the second I stepped through the door.
She didn’t see me at first.
Rose was sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the counter, on a tarp I had purposefully left there after noticing that she liked to sit on the floor when she worked. She said the chair made her back hurt, but I suspected it was more than that. Some kind of comfort. Some kind of grounding technique.
She was surrounded by papers and binders and an open laptop. Her shoulders were hunched, her head bowed low, and for a moment I thought she was just focused—until I noticed the trembling. Her shoulders were shaking.
She was crying.
Fuck.
Fuck.
It was like someone had reached inside my chest and crushed my lungs in their fist. The air left me.
I stepped in quietly, the bell above the door giving a soft jingle I tried to mute with a gentle touch. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing us in, and I kept my voice low. Careful.
“Rose?”
She flinched like I’d caught her mid-crime. Like crying made her weak. She swiped at her face with both hands, frantic, like she could erase it—like she could hide it from me if she was fast enough.
Her eyes were wet, wide, and wary when they met mine.
“I’m fine,” she said too quickly. “Really. I’m just tired.”
Bullshit. But I didn’t push. Not right away.
I crouched in front of her slowly, letting her see every move, letting her breathe. Because if there was one thing I’d learned this past week, it was that Rosemarie Carter didn’t open up easily. She was always buttoned up. Prim. Polite. But never cold. There was fire under all that quiet. I’d seen it in her mouth when she kissed me back. In her hands when they held on like she didn’t want to let go.
And right now, that fire was flickering. Barely holding on.
