Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“Canada. But it’s a Native American sport. I think it’s been around for five hundred years and—oh, I love this song.” I broke off to sing along to NSYNC’s “Bye, Bye, Bye,” flipping pine nuts on the stove and sliding across the hardwood floor to boogie next to him before turning off the burner.
Asher grinned at my antics. His eyes lit up like a kid’s under those adorable glasses. Knowing I’d cracked his serious façade made me feel ridiculously smug. I was reminded of when he’d sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor poring over Star Wars comics in wonderment. He hadn’t been overly worried about increasing his brain bandwidth then or now. He was happy to be in the moment. And I felt the same.
We piled chicken salads onto our plates and sat next to each other at the island, alternately chatting about boy band lyrics and singing along to whatever popped up on my playlist. Okay, I did all the singing, but Asher didn’t mind. I could almost see his shoulders relax as he became more and more comfortable.
I couldn’t convince him to leave the dishes and cleanup for after we’d tackled the bookshelves, but hey…that was expected. So I turned up the music, sang a little louder, shook my hips with more gusto, and made it my goal to get him to laugh during the entire cleanup ordeal. He did.
And he still had a smile on his face when I pulled out my tool chest and opened the bookshelf boxes on my living room floor.
But then he got serious again.
He kneeled beside me on the area rug and pushed at his glasses nervously. “How does this work? Shall I copy you?”
I read the instructions and shrugged. “You can. This is pretty basic construction. First thing I like to do is organize the bolts and screws. We need an Allen wrench, a screwdriver, and a hammer.”
“What’s an Allen wrench?”
I tore open the plastic bag included in the packaging and held up a thin wrench. “This. Okay, step one, we insert the cam screws into the upright panel where the shelves go.”
“What’s a cam screw?” he asked, worrying his bottom lip.
I held up the screw and the screwdriver and showed him how to tighten it. “Want to try it on the other bookshelf?”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m ready for that. I’ll watch you.”
“You mean ‘help me.’ That’s what you wanted to do, remember?”
Asher grunted. “Yes.”
“Hey, this is the fun part. It’s just a matter of following directions. Roll your shoulders back and relax.” I gave him a quick sideways glance. “Want to take your shoes off?”
He hesitated for a beat before nodding. He made himself comfortable and scooted close enough that I could smell his cologne. We’d been around each other most of the day, but my awareness of him felt heightened somehow. I didn’t get it. Sitting on the floor in my living room surrounded by boxes, tools, and bookshelf parts wasn’t sexy in the slightest. In fact, nothing we’d done today had been remotely romantic. But it had been surprisingly fun.
This was fun too. I didn’t know what it was, but something in the air had changed. The note of anticipation was stronger than ever. I could feel the charge between us like a buzzing live wire.
And damn, I was tired of ignoring my attraction to him. I’d agreed that we could only be friends, but my body was not a fan of that idea. I wished I could push this shit aside, pull out my old comics, and hold him while he geeked out to his favorite space adventures. I wished I could massage the stress from his shoulders, kiss his neck, and breathe him in.
“Now what?”
“Uh…” I coughed and cleared my throat. “We have to attach the kickplate and align the screws at the holes.”
“And push them in?”
“No, we screw them in.”
“That sounds like sex,” he blurted before covering his mouth.
I scratched my head with a groan. “Pay attention. You’re doing that one on your own.”
Asher cast a wary gaze at the unopened box nearby and sighed. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Forty minutes later, I was the proud owner of two well-put-together bookshelves. Spoiler alert…I did all the work.
In his defense, Asher tried, but he couldn’t quite work up the muscle required to tighten bolts and hoist boards into place. He was a little embarrassed by his effort, but I assured him I didn’t mind. I liked his company, and this was the sort of project I could have done with my eyes closed.
“Well done. They’re nothing fancy, but they look good,” I commented, smacking the top of each of the short bookshelves.
“Yes. You did well. Where did you acquire these skills?”
“My dad likes to build stuff. I always got roped into helping him when I was a kid. I didn’t mind, though. It was fun.”