Page 36 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

He studied her boots briefly, then nodded and returned to his work.

Eliza watched as he drove the shovel into the earth, levering it aside with controlled strength. Each movement was economical, deliberate. She was keenly aware of the way his body worked, not in display, but in function.

This was not attraction born of novelty. This was recognition deepening.

She stepped closer, careful of her footing, and knelt at the edge of the trench. The dampness seeped through the fabric of her gloves as she rested her hand against the ground.

“The slope is too shallow here,” she said, pointing.

Thomas paused, then looked. “Yes. That’s where it backs up.”

She traced the line with her finger. “If it deepens by another inch, the water will carry through cleanly.”

He nodded slowly. “That would do it.”

Their heads bent over the same stretch of ground, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, the faint brush of his sleeve against her arm as he adjusted his stance.

Neither of them moved away.

Thomas worked carefully around her, the shovel passing within inches of her knee. Eliza stayed still, trusting his precision without question.

Trust had settled between them so gradually she could no longer identify where it had begun. Perhaps because Thomas had never once treated her carelessly, even when they were young enough to mistake familiarity for permanence.

That trust settled into him visibly.

When he finished, he stepped back and gestured for her to look. Water from the higher ground trickled down, gathering briefly, then flowing onward without resistance.

“There,” he said. “That will hold.”

Eliza rose slowly, aware of the effort it took to straighten, to create distance.

“Well done,” she said.

He met her gaze. “It was a good eye.”

She smiled. “It helps to care where the water goes.”

He held her look a moment longer than necessary. “It does.”

A breeze moved across the field, cool against her face. Eliza gathered her cloak closer, the motion small, habitual.

Without thinking, Thomas reached out and adjusted it at her shoulder, drawing the fabric closer. The touch was brief. Intentional.

He stilled.

So did she.

His hand fell away at once. “Forgive me.”

Eliza did not step back. She did not step forward.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said quietly.

The air between them felt charged now. Not with urgency. Aware.

“I should return,” she said after a moment.

“Yes,” he replied, though his voice had changed slightly. “They’ll be waiting.”