Page 46 of If This Was a Movie

“Instructions. I would have thought a real manly man like yourself would just jump right in, figure it out as he goes.”

Unexpectedly, his lips tip up, a full grin taking over his face.

“You know, a real man isn’t afraid of a little instruction. In fact, he might find a step-by-step tutorial is quite…enlightening.” The glimmer in his eye has my face burning with a blush as I recall the first time I was in this kitchen, spread on this very counter, and showing him how I liked to be touched before he took over.

I clear my throat.

“Yes, well, I’m also quite the do-it-yourselfer these days. I just find it more…satisfying, you know?” I flutter my lashes at him, attempting to ignore the absolute need to hide away. Backing down means Nate wins, and I hate losing.

He looks at me, his tongue tracing his teeth in a way I tell myself I would not like to feel before he speaks. “I think I’d like to see you do it yourself sometime, dollface.”

I stare at him slack-jawed, unable to think of a witty or a biting remark, instead once again flashing back to almost a year ago on this counter. “Show me,” he had said, and I’d be lying if I didn’t occasionally bring that memory out of storage to use on particularly lonely nights.

“Do you like my picture?” Sophie asks, pushing a coloring book into my arm and breaking the moment. I don’t know how I had forgotten the little girl that sat next to me, but when I look down, there’s a princess colored in wildly, the lines of the page mere suggestions, but it looks perfect all the same.

I clear my throat before answering. “Oh my goodness, it’s beautiful!” I say with a big gasp. “You’re an amazing artist!”

“Thanks, I know,” she says with a confident little shrug and a smile. I let a small laugh out and wish I had a third of her confidence. “Do you want it?”

“Me?” I ask, and she nods.

“To decorate Aunt Claire’s cottage.”

“Oh, my goodness, yes! I’d love it. That’s a great idea, thank you so much.” I watch as she carefully tears out the photo, a look of fierce concentration on her face. “I can’t wait to hang it up,” I say, meaning it.

She smiles and then gives me a big hug before returning to her coloring.

“Now I need to make one to send to Aunt Claire. She probably misses me, like, a lot.”

I nod my head and go back to attempting to reply to emails and ignore the man working at the sink.

My plan is ruined just few minutes later when I watch as he reaches behind himself with both arms, grabbing the back of his sweatshirt and tugging it over his head, leaving just a tight fitted white T-shirt underneath before opening the cabinets beneath the sink and looking in there, fiddling with pipes or whatever it is he’s doing.

I wouldn’t know, I’m too busy watching the muscles of his back shift beneath that tight T-shirt.

It’s incredibly distracting. So much so that less than an hour later, I get exactly zero of the emails I needed to send and reply to done. Instead, every moment was spent trying to sneak coy looks at Nate’s arms and back. A few times, he even reached up to grab something, his shirt shifting up and revealing a line of smooth skin, a hint of light hair leading to a happy trail on a toned stomach, and I think I swallowed the moan that almost left my lips.

I hope.

Either way, I am so totally fucked.

And when Nate turns the tap on, looking satisfied with his work, then turns to me, arms crossed on his chest with that same self-satisfied look on his lips, I know I’m fucked.

“So, tomorrow,” he starts, looking at me. “What’s your schedule look like?”

My brows furrow trying to remember what day of the week tomorrow even is since my mind is still muddled, watching his arms pull at the sleeves of his white tee. Shaking my head, I click a few things on my laptop and open my calendar.

“I…” I start reading the day’s schedule. “Just a rehearsal at five. We have to redo the dress rehearsal at the community center before the recital.”

“Oh, I forgot about your recital. When’s that again?”

“Tuesday, so I won’t be able to help much with Sophie early next week.” He shakes his head and waves at me in a don’t worry about it gesture. “And then, for the most part, the season will be done until January. Hopefully everything will be…done by then,” I say, biting my lip.

I try to close up the kids' practices after the winter recital and start back up mid-January once the chaos of the holidays and winter break end. Each year I think about doing a one-weekintensive camp to help with the parents who have to work while the kids are off because I miss them, but I’m glad I didn’t do it this year.

“Hmm,” he says, looking at his daughter then back to me. “Well, tomorrow, in the morning, would you want to go tree shopping with us?”

“What?”

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