Page 42 of Rook
She handed him the sanding block anyway. “Fine. You can help. Just…don’t hover. Your hovering makes it hard to think straight.”
Their fingers brushed. A spark. A memory. A pull he felt all the way to his bones.
He stepped back anyway because she looked one breath away from bolting.
They worked in silence, Avery sanding the smaller pieces while Rook hauled out the heavy display cases, the metal shelving, and the cracked glass panels that had been shoved into the back room years ago.
Every time he lifted something, Avery’s eyes flicked toward him, quick and assessing, like she was checking he wasn’t overdoing it or maybe checking he was still there. Every time she bent to reach something, his gaze drifted without permission, cataloging the changes in her and the pieces that hadn’t changed at all.
He hated how easy it was to fall back into old patterns. He hated how much he didn’t hate it.
After an hour, Avery wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “You know, you don’t have to do all the heavy lifting.”
He shot her a look. “You weigh, what, a hundred pounds? You’d snap in half trying to move this stuff.”
Her eyes narrowed. “One thirty-five.”
He smirked. “Still too small.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m not small.”
“You’re stubborn,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Her glare sharpened. “I’m not stubborn. I’m self-sufficient.”
“Same thing when you refuse help just to prove a point.”
She bristled. “I’ve been doing things on my own for a long time, Noah. I don’t need someone swooping in to fix everything.”
“I’m not swooping in.”
“You are. You always do.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “Aves, I’m literally just moving a shelf.”
“Yeah? And next you’ll be telling me how to run the place.”
He stared at her. “I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“I never said you were.”
“You implied it.”
He let out a humorless breath. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re overbearing.”
They stood there, breathing hard, caught somewhere between who they’d been and who they didn’t quite know how to be now.
She turned away, grabbing a paintbrush. “I’m going to start on the trim.”
He followed her without meaning to. “Aves…”
“Don’t,” she said, voice tight.
He stopped. “Don’t what?”
