Page 38 of Dropping the Ball

Before I reach the stairs, he plucks at my sleeve, and I turn.

“The grudge is still expired, right?”

“Right,” I say, trying to give him a normal smile. So normal. Super normal. An everything-is-great smile. He starts to look worried. “We’re good.”

He hesitates. “Okay. You seem . . .”

“Remember high school? I like to work. And work is work. And I work better when it stays that way.” None of this emotional connection detour.

As if someone has swiped a filter over his face, the warmth turns cool. “Understood.”

He follows me down the stairs without comment, and when we reach the warehouse floor, I pause near yet another pile of rebar. “Keep me posted. Madison chose the right person for this job.”

“Thanks.” He reaches over and slides a rod from the top, holding it in his upturned palms. One of his thumbs traces the ribs spiraling around it. “Did I tell you where this rebar is from?”

“No.”

“The teardown of the Marble Falls bridge.” He scrapes a ridge. “I’ve had it for years.”

“Weren’t we still in college when that bridge came down?”

He nods. “I was on the construction crew that cleared the debris. They never care what I keep from a demo, so I held on to it, waiting for the right project. All the pink granite for the capitol back in the day came from Marble Falls.” He taps it. “Rebar from a bridge leading to a quarry that helped build a legacy. Fits Threadwork.”

I swallow. This man . . . he makes me want to abandon my role in all this, pull up a chair, and watch him work all day. Watch him make and sculpt and build. “I love that.”

He sets the rebar back on its stack. “Drop in as often as it takes to feel comfortable with the progress.”

I don’t quite meet his eyes as I look over to Eva setting up sawhorses. “You won’t see me much. This is clearly in capable hands, so I won’t be underfoot.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t argue, only nods and slides his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll let Madison know it’s all coming together,” I say before heading to the door.

“See you around,” he says, and it’s almost lost in the clanking of Eva’s setup.

In the parking lot, I climb into my Audi. I replay the whole scene with Micah several times as I drive to the office, trying to understand what I’m feeling.

I like Micah. As a person.

I am attracted to Micah. That body. That brain. That sweet look on his face when he held Harper. The intensity in his eyes when he talks about the installation. The quiet way he listens.

But he also brings out old instincts that I don’t love. Like the urge to compete, even over stupid things. Or the self-consciousness I worked on overcoming all through college. It’s like he sees through my highlights and the high heels, the perfect neutral lipstick with a rosy tint and the tailored suits. He sees quiet, mousy high school Kaitlyn.

He sees the girl who was so quietly, madly in love with him her senior year that she couldn’t hide it and broke her nose.

The shame of being transparent had burned so intensely that even in college, I’d changed direction the handful of times I’d seen him on campus.No burning feelings here, Micah Croft.

As I pull onto the highway, I acknowledge there’s a difference now that I can’t overlook: Micah seems like he likes me as a person too.

What if that went somewhere? What if that turned into mutual attraction and then more?

The flutters explode in my chest even considering it.

And that is the problem.

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