“What now?”
I straighten from the wal . “Now, we repair the damage…
and reinstal the shelving.”
He pul s his phone from his pocket, checks the time. “I assume you have a painstakingly calculated timetable…
and the closets have to be done today.”
“Yep.” I grab a couple of the boards and haul them from the closet, and he fol ows with the brackets and the dril .
“Which means you’l have to stay later.”
I answer with a smal shrug and a nod.
“I guess I’l stay later too, then.”
This is unprecedented. “Oh?”
“Wel , it’s my fault we have to redo the whole closet, so yeah.” Hitting a speed dial number, he watches me carry the remaining boards from inside the closet and lean them careful y against the pink wal . “Hey George, can you reschedule that interview? And also let the driver know to be here at five instead of three today.”
Avoiding his eyes, I listen as he and his manager rearrange his after-hours agenda. Before now, I hadn’t rearrange his after-hours agenda. Before now, I hadn’t considered that Reid had anything else to do between filming movies, aside from goofing off.
The typical schedule everyone keeps is 8 a.m. to 3 p.m., and I’m used to him leaving with the rest of the transient volunteers. Those of us making up the regular crew come in earlier sometimes, and hang around a bit later sometimes, finishing up projects or readying things for the next day while the house grows gradual y quieter, the sounds of an entire crew of workers fading to nothing.
Since we have to repaint the closet in Gabriel e’s room, her shelves are the last thing to be done. When Reid volunteers to instal them alone (again) while I finish up the linen closet shelving, I take a breath and ignore the threatening sense of déjà vu. Instead, I simply hand him the dril and the studfinder (his lips twist, and I know he’s repressing a wise crack) after showing him how to use it.
While finishing out the linen closet, I stifle the desire to check on him at least a dozen times. Final y, I head back to Gabriel e’s room, bracing myself for whatever catastrophe awaits.
Reid’s back is to me as he attaches the last shelf, the hard muscles of his shoulders and arms flexed and defined through his white t-shirt as he presses the dril , driving the screw through the bracket and into the wal . When finished, he leaves the dril on the shelf and steps back, every line of his body radiating pride, unaware that I’m watching. He’s not wearing the safety goggles (he never does unless I make him put them on), but I won’t chide him for it.
“It looks good,” I say, and he moves to the side as I step
“It looks good,” I say, and he moves to the side as I step in next to him. I tug on the shelves, testing them. They don’t budge. I could probably climb on them if I had to. They’re more than secure enough to hold Gabriel e’s shoes and storage boxes.
Relaxing against the doorjamb of the closet, folding his arms loosely over his chest, he glances towards the bedroom door. “It’s real y quiet in the house now. So weird.” I nod. “Everyone’s gone except Roberta and Gene, and they’re doing paperwork in the office.” His body fil s the closet doorway, and he’l have to move for me to exit.
Which is an odd thought to have, and makes me very aware of the enclosed space. “Being in here is sort of like burrowing into a piece of bubblegum,” I say nervously, glancing at the closet’s pink wal s.
He doesn’t answer, staring at me like he’s analyzing a complex riddle. Uncrossing his arms, he hooks one hand in his front pocket while the other lifts, his fingers catching a strand of hair too short to stretch to the elastic pul ing the rest of my hair back. He slides it behind my ear, grazing the tip with his finger, and suddenly there’s no sound but the pounding of my heart. This is where I should put my hands up between us like I did before. This is where I should say excuse me and get out of here.
His hand drops to his side and he stares down at me, making no movement towards me or away. I suck my lower lip into my mouth, a nervous habit leftover from childhood, and his gaze drops there, sticks. A minute passes before he braces a hand on the wal just over my shoulder and leans closer, his eyes flashing to mine. “Tel me what to do next, because I’m not sure what you want.” His voice has gone rusty and low, like he hasn’t used it in weeks.
I know what he’s asking, despite the words threading across this scene: this is not happening. I shake my head, barely moving. Thoughts tumble through my mind, blurred, flashing in and out, opposites: kiss me, don’t touch me, come closer, move away.
“Al I’m asking,” his knuckles brush along my jaw, “is that you tel me, Dori, what… you... want.”
When he straightens and begins to back away, I almost protest, biting my lip to keep from doing so. This movement betrays me, though, because again, he stares at my mouth a long moment before his gaze shifts to my eyes.
“Or maybe, just tel me if I do something you don’t want,” he says quietly. And then his palms are skimming down my arms, and his mouth is on mine and he’s kissing me, sliding his arms around me and pul ing me up against his chest, hands pressing my lower back. Gently, his lips play over mine, teasing and testing and it feels so incredible, but somewhere in my mind is the tiniest nagging disappointment that he’s kissing me like Nick did, the few times he’d kissed me— safely—the last thing I expect from Reid.
Chapter 23
REID
The last thing I expect is for her to open her mouth, almost imperceptibly, so subtly that if I wasn’t paying attention I might miss it. I’m al about paying attention. Even stil , her response is such a shock that I almost pause, but instinctively I know that if I give her a fraction of a second to think, this is over.