Page 18 of Fixing to Be Mine

And then she’s gone, disappearing down the hallway like she’s on a mission. There’s a new energy to her—lighter, sharper, like she’s ready to throw herself into work if it means keeping her mind from going too quiet. I know that feeling better than I probably should, which is why I think her helping me may help her.

I’ve got five rental properties scattered across this county and a garage full of tools. I’ve always used work to push through the thoughts I couldn’t sit still with. Every house I’ve worked on has some memory packed into the drywall and floorboards. The only difference with this old house is, it’s got a beautiful woman in it.

Once I finish the last bite of my toast, I rinse both plates, letting the motion settle me. She wore my shirt like it belonged to her and sat at my table like it was always her seat. And for some reason I can’t explain, it felt right. Too right.

I slide the dishes into the washer and wipe my hands on a towel. Then I grab my coffee and head down the hall toward the living room. The floors creak under my boots like they’re just as uncertain about where this thing with her is heading.

I’ve got at least a dozen things I could knock off my to-do list, but today, my focus is drywall. I want to get the hallway done. It’s a simple task. Or at least it was, until I hear footsteps behind me.

She doesn’t announce herself and enters like she’s done it every morning of her life. Hair twisted up in that messy, loose knot, pink tank top hugging her curves, legs bare, and blue jean cutoffs that should be illegal this early in the day.

“Reporting for duty,” she says, meeting my eyes with that look that says she’s not afraid of a challenge.

I hand her the tape measure. “Hold this.”

She grabs the end, and I stretch it to the edge of the hallway closet, watching the numbers roll out between us.

“Eighteen feet,” I call out, then double-check my reading to be sure. “That’s four and a half panels, plus two and a half. So, seven.”

I walk the tape back to her, our fingers brushing as I take it from her hand.

“You ever worked with drywall?” I ask, more curious than anything.

She lets out a low laugh and steps closer. “Hate to admit that this is a first for me.”

Her eyes flick down to my mouth before they climb their way back up.

“Mmm.” I offer her a soft smile. “Guess I’ve got a few things to teach you.”

She’s sizing me up, and I swear the air between us gets warmer. We make our way to the front room, where I keep my tools and supplies tucked out of the way. I flip a full sheet of drywall onto the sawhorses, and she watches me like she’s trying not to get caught. With her arms crossed, she tugs her lips upward, like she’s holding back a grin she doesn’t want me to see.

“All right,” I say, slapping the panel once with my palm. “You’re very distracting.”

She raises a brow. “Speak for yourself.”

God help me.

“Come closer,” I say, grabbing the T-square and lining it up along the edge as she moves beside me. I can feel the warmth of her skin radiating from her. “First rule of drywall. Straight lines only. One cut. Mess it up, and you’ve wasted time, patience, and a perfectly good sheet.”

Her arm brushes mine. “So, you’re saying, precision is sexy.”

“Confidence is too.” I pass her the pencil, letting my fingers trail against hers. “Mark it at twenty-four inches. We’re cutting a two-foot strip.”

She stays planted beside me for a breath too long. Sunny is close enough to scramble every useful thought in my head as she leans in and draws the line. Her scent clouding my focus.

“Like this?” she asks.

“Mmhmm.”

I move in behind her, reaching around to hand her the utility knife. Her fingers wrap around the handle as I press the T-square firmly in place.

“Keep the blade tight against the square,” I say, lowering my voice. “Only cut the paper. Keep it straight. Go slow.”

“Got it,” she says, though her voice has lost a little of its edge. It’s softer now and a little breathy.

She leans in to make the cut, and I watch every second. Her shoulder brushes my chest, and she doesn’t move away.

With one clean pass, the paper splits with ease.

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