Page 8 of Tides of Redemption
He set down a plastic tote filled with professional hanging supplies—a level, special hooks, wire cutters. “Ready to get started?”
An electric tension crackled in the air between us, awareness of being alone together in a close space. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, which only made it more dangerous.
“Let’s start with Todd’s painting of the store,” he suggested, all business despite the warmth in his eyes. “It deserves the focal wall.”
We carefully unwrapped the watercolor of Tides & Tales, and my chest warmed at seeing it again—the welcoming glow of the windows, the subtle colors of the coastal evening, the familiar sense of home that Todd had captured.
“It’s perfect.” My words came out in a reverent whisper.
Caleb nodded. “It belongs where it catches the eye when people first enter.”
I held the ladder steady as he climbed, measuring tape in hand. Standing below him, I couldn’t help but notice how his jeans fit his tight ass, how his sweater rode up slightly—exposing a bit of bare skin—as he reached to measure for the position of the painting. My face heated and my cock stirred.
The ladder wobbled suddenly, and Caleb swayed. Without thinking, I reached up, my hands finding his waist to steady him.
“I’ve got you,” I said, my voice coming out huskier than intended.
He stilled, then relaxed into my touch, one hand coming down to briefly cover mine. “Thanks.”
I should have let go immediately, but my hands lingered a moment too long, feeling the warmth of him through the soft cashmere. I wanted to pull him off the ladder and against my misbehaving dick. Instead, I forced myself to remove my hands.
We moved through the room, hanging each piece exactly where the light would showcase it best. Every time we passed tools back and forth, our fingers brushed, sending sparks shooting up my arm. We worked in a quiet rhythm, anticipating each other’s needs, finishing each other’s sentences when discussing placement. It was unsettling how well we still knew each other after all these years.
“A little to the left,” I suggested as he adjusted a painting of the cliffs.
He moved it exactly as much as I’d meant. “Like that?”
“Excellent.”
He glanced down at me from the ladder, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. “We always did work well together.”
The simple truth of it knocked the air from my lungs. We had. In college, we’d been an unbeatable team—my organization skills complementing his creativity, his vision enhancing my practicality.
“Hand me the level?” he asked, breaking the moment.
As I passed it up, our hands connected again. This time, neither of us pretended not to notice. His eyes met mine, and for a breath, we just held on, connected by cold metal and warm memories.
The morning passed in this dance of professional collaboration and unacknowledged attraction. By the time we hung the last piece, the room had transformed into a gallery-worthy space that still felt like part of the bookstore.
We stood in the entryway and examined our work. The paintings glowed under the lighting, transforming the once-ordinary room into something magical.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, and I meant it.
“It is.” Caleb turned to me, his eyes soft. “You did most of the hard work before I even got here today.”
“We did it together.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Something shifted in his expression, a hopeful vulnerability that made my heart swell. I wanted to wrap him in my arms, to thank him properly for this brilliant idea that might save my store, for knowing exactly what I needed before I did.
But I held back. In six months, he’d be gone again, back to his life in Paris. I couldn’t let him break my heart twice.
Still, as we stood there in the quiet morning light, surrounded by scenes of Seacliff Cove rendered in watercolor, something eased between us. A beginning, perhaps. Or at least, not an ending.
“Coffee?” I asked, breaking the silence.
His smile was warm, genuine. “I’d like that.”
As we walked to The Coffee Cove together, our shoulders occasionally brushing, I tried to tell myself this was just business. But my thundering pulse knew better.
