Clint mimics connecting wires, still grinning. “Terminal? Get it?”
“Right. Funny,” I acknowledge. “Make sure those plates match the antique bronze order, will you?”
His grin falters, and guilt settles heavily on my shoulders.
By four o’clock, the rain has turned the site into a mud pit. The painters are packing up early, muttering about humidity and drying times. The steady hammer of rain on the temporary roof blurs with the pounding at my temples.
“Let’s call it,” I yell, sweeping my arm in a wide arc to get their attention above the racket. “Pack up and secure the site. We’ll reassess in the morning.”
Relief flows through the crew, bodies straightening from hunched positions over work that was growing more frustrating than productive. Tools rattle into boxes, tarps snap over materials, and voices rise with end-of-day plans involving hot showers and cold beers.
I stand by the site trailer, clipboard tucked under my arm, reviewing tomorrow’s schedule. My shoulders ache from hours of tension, and the knot forming at the base of my neck promises a headache by evening.
The last of the crew filters past, nodding goodbyes or raising hands in silent farewells. The security lights flicker on as the dense clouds hide the daylight, casting the worksite in harsh white light that turns the puddles into mirrors.
Footsteps squelch through mud behind me, and I recognize who it is before I turn, the awareness prickling across my skin like static electricity.
“Thought you might want this.” Jared holds out a thermos, steam curling from the open top. Rain beads on his jacket, each droplet catching the security light. “You left it in the equipment shed earlier. I went ahead and topped it off over at Kyle’s cabin. Figured you could use the extra heat.”
I take it, careful not to let our fingers touch, and breathe in the cinnamon he added. “Thanks.”
He stands next to me, not speaking, and not leaving, water dripping from the brim of his cap onto his shoulders. The quiet stretches between us, punctuated only by the patter of rain and the distant call of the last workers heading down to the dock.
“You okay?” Jared finally asks.
“Just tired,” I say, the lie overused and unconvincing.
Jared shifts his weight, boots sinking in the mud. “You’ve been checking your phone all day.”
It’s not a question, but it demands an answer all the same. I take a sip from the thermos, buying seconds to come up with a response. “Work never stops, even when we do.”
“Emily, come on,” he says, a plea and a challenge wrapped into one. “Don’t pretend with me.”
Rain drips from the brim of my hard hat, and a drop lands on my cheek, trailing down to my jaw.
The clipboard creaks in my grip. “I said I’m fine.”
Jared studies me, the concern in his expression cutting deeper than anger would. “Okay.” He stepsback, creating more distance. “Just wanted to check.”
“I appreciate it.”
He accepts the dismissal for what it is. “See you on the taxi then.”
“Actually.” I swallow hard. “I need to finish up some paperwork. I’ll take the later boat. Go ahead and take the truck home. I’ll catch a cab.”
Another lie, transparent as the rain. We both know there’s no paperwork that can’t wait, no reason to stay except to avoid the quiet intimacy of sitting beside him on the near-empty evening water taxi.
“Right.” His whole body droops. “Well, see you at home then.”
Home. The word hangs in the space between us, loaded with everything I’ve been trying not to acknowledge. My cottage has become home to both of us, filled with his presence in spaces that were empty before.
“See you there,” I manage past the pain lodged in my throat.
He turns to go, shoulders hunched. As he walks away, mud sucks at his boots, and in a dozen steps, he disappears around the corner of the Homestead.
Only then do my knees give out. The thermos tumbles from my hand, spilling fragrant coffee onthe ground as the pain in my chest steals my breath. Gasping, I dig the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, blocking out the harsh security lights and the darkening worksite.
What am I even doing, besides hurting us both?