Page 52 of Cold Front
Eli’s gaze lingered on me for half a beat before flicking back to the ships. “These are insane, Niall. Like, look at the detail.”
He slid his backpack off his shoulder, letting it drop to the floor with a quiet thud before crouching slightly. His eyes traced the delicate rigging on a schooner, his fingers twitching like he wanted to touch but didn’t dare.
Without thinking, I reached up, grabbed one of the smaller models, and held it out.
He hesitated. Just for a second. Then he took it, handling it like it was something rare. Precious.
“Damn.” He turned it over in his hands, careful not to press too hard. “How long does it take to make one of these?”
“Depends. Weeks. Sometimes months.” My throat felt tight, so I cleared it. “You still wanna learn?”
His head snapped toward me. “Wait. You’d teach me?”
The moment the words were out, I regretted them. Not because I didn’t want to, but because it meant something. More than I was ready to admit.
I shifted, looking anywhere but at him. “If you’re not busy.”
Eli grinned, slow and bright. “Oh, I definitely wanna learn.”
I hesitated for a beat, then exhaled through my nose. “All right.”
I moved to my desk, pushing a few things aside to clear some space. Eli grabbed his backpack off the floor, shoving it against the wall before stepping closer. His attention darted between the half-finished models and the tools scattered across the desk, curiosity all over his face.
“How do we start?” he asked, dragging a hand through his hair.
I crouched, pulling a box from under the desk and setting it on top. Lifting the lid, I sifted through the pieces until I found an unfinished model—just the skeleton of a ship, waiting to be built.
“This,” I said, setting it between us. “First thing—you don’t just slap pieces together. You gotta be precise.”
Eli pulled out my desk chair, dropping into it and leaning forward, elbows braced on the wood. “I can be precise.”
I snorted. “Doubtful.”
He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “Rude.”
Shaking my head, I grabbed a small wooden piece and the tiniest paintbrush. “You start with this. Base coat first. Steady hand.”
Eli reached for it, his fingers brushing mine as he took it. His skin was warm, and his touch brief, but it sent something sharp and electric up my arm. I clenched my jaw and looked away.
Silence stretched as he concentrated, tongue caught between his teeth. He was horrible at it.
I huffed a laugh. “You’re butchering it.”
He scowled. “Maybe if I had a good teacher?—”
Before I could think better of it, my fingers wrapped around his hand, steadying it. “Like this.” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
Eli stilled. I did too.
The air between us thickened, heavy with something I couldn’t name. My heart was pounding in my chest, louder than my own thoughts. His breathing was slow, controlled, but I could see the subtle quiver of tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flickered down to my lips before snapping back up to mine. His body was close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, warm and inviting, but I couldn’t bring myself to close that last inch.
Not yet.
But then, I noticed his gaze drop again, lingering at my mouth—just long enough for the hunger to rise in me, something sharp and raw and unfamiliar. My chest tightened. Every nerve in my body seemed to lock up as if waiting for something, anything, to happen.
I should’ve stepped back. I should’ve made this moment less dangerous. But I couldn’t. I wanted him too much.
Before I could talk myself out of it, before I could think about what the hell I was doing, I was closing the space between us.
