Rena #3
I straighten, brushing dirt off my fingers, and tilt my head back to meet his gaze. The sun's behind him, turning him into a silhouette edged in gold, and I have to squint slightly to see his expression.
He notices and steps to the side, blocking the glare without being asked. It's a small thing. It’s considerate in a way that shouldn't make my chest tighten, but does anyway.
"I like to see things before they get busy," I say, matching his even tone. "You catch more problems that way."
"That so?"
"You disagree?"
He studies me for a long moment, and I watch something shift in his eyes. It’s like a decision is being made, and an assessment finalized.
"No," he says finally. "I just don't get many consultants who bother."
There's respect in those words, buried under the neutral delivery. I recognize it because I've learned to listen for it, to catch the difference between someone humoring me and someone actually paying attention.
"Then you've been working with the wrong consultants," I say.
His mouth curves, just slightly. "Apparently."
I flip a page on my clipboard, giving myself something to do with my hands that isn't reaching out to see if his forearms are as solid as they look under those sleeves.
"Ground's soft near the eastern edge," I tell him, nodding toward the area I was examining. "If you're running equipment through there later, you might want to reroute."
"We already did," he says. "After the rain last night."
My eyes snap back to his, surprise flickering through me before I can hide it.
"Good," I say, recovering. "Then we won't have a problem."
"That's the plan."
We stand there for a beat too long, the noise of the site washing over us, neither of us moving. There's a charge in the air between us, something that has nothing to do with construction and everything to do with the way his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth before catching himself.
"You always this confident?" he asks, and there's something in his voice now, something warmer, more curious.
"Only when I know I'm right," I reply, letting my smile sharpen just enough to be interesting.
He exhales slowly through his nose. I watch his chest expand under his jacket, and watch the way his shoulders shift as if he's physically bracing himself against something.
Against this.
Against me.
"This site's my responsibility," he says, and I hear the weight behind those words. It’s not possessiveness, it’s more like duty.
"I know," I tell him, and I mean it. "That's why I'm here. We want the same thing."
His gaze searches my face, looking for something. Doubt, maybe dishonesty, or corporate doublespeak that usually accompanies people in my position.
Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find it.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I think we do."
A shout cuts through the moment, sharp and urgent. Both our heads snap toward the sound in unison, our bodies already tensing in preparation.
One of the workers near the dig has slipped, his boots losing purchase on the muddy slope. His arms windmill as he fights for balance, and for a heart-stopping second I think he's going over the edge.
Caleb's already moving, but I'm faster.
"Hey!" My voice is loud across the site, but it’s sharp and clear. "Stop. Watch your footing."
The worker freezes, then carefully redistributes his weight, finding solid ground. He straightens, looking sheepish, and gives me a thumbs up.
My heart's still pounding when I turn back to Caleb. He's staring at me, something intense and unreadable burning in his eyes.
"Thank you," he says, and the words come out rougher than I think he intended.
"That's literally my job," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady despite the adrenaline still flooding my system.
He steps closer, his voice dropping low enough that only I can hear. "Doesn't mean I won't appreciate it."
The world narrows again, the site noise fading into background static. We're standing too close, close enough to smell coffee and whatever he showered with this morning that makes my brain short-circuit.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and this time he lingers. My breath catches audibly, and I watch his pupils dilate in response.
This is dangerous. This is exactly what I swore I would never do.
"I should finish my walk-through," I manage, proud of how steady I sound.
"Yeah," he agrees, but he doesn't step back. "You should."
Neither of us moves.
It's me who breaks first, stepping away before I do something phenomenally stupid like close the remaining distance between us and find out if his mouth is as firm as it looks.
"You'll get my report by end of day," I say.
"I'll be here." His voice follows me as I turn away, wrapping around me like a promise I didn't ask for.
I force myself to walk at a normal pace, to not look back, but focus on the uneven ground, the equipment placements and literally anything other than the way my entire body is still humming with awareness.
This is a bad idea.
I know it the same way I know when a load-bearing wall is under too much stress, when pressure's building somewhere invisible until something has to give.
And I've got the deeply unsettling feeling that if I'm not careful, it's going to be me.