Rena
The door closes behind us with a click that echoes in the small space. Forced proximity has a way of sharpening everything, stripping away the buffer of open air and the ability to pretend you're not hyper-aware of another person's existence.
I glance around while he sets his own clipboard down, taking in the neat stacks of blueprints, the site map pinned up, the single coffee mug rinsed and upside down on a paper towel, like even his desk clutter has a system.
"This feels like you," I say before I can stop myself.
"Yeah?" Something almost like amusement crosses his face. "How's that?"
"Organized. No wasted space. Like everything's exactly where it needs to be because you decided it should be."
He doesn't answer that, just holds my gaze a beat too long, and I look away first, annoyed at how much that silence tells me anyway.
Caleb moves past me to shut the window, and his shoulder brushes mine. Half a second of contact, the kind that happens a hundred times a day on a job site without anyone noticing. Except my entire nervous system lights up as if he touched me with a live wire.
I don't step away. Neither does he.
"Appreciate you taking a look at this," he says, his voice carefully controlled, nodding toward the schedule spread across the desk.
"Weather's shifting." I set my clipboard down, putting a few inches between us because my body's making suggestions my brain knows are terrible ideas. "If the ground keeps softening, you'll need to adjust timing or you're going to have settlement issues."
"You always this dramatic about dirt?"
"I'm not dramatic. I'm accurate. There's a difference, and it's the difference between a foundation and a very expensive hole."
He leans over the plans, bracing one hand on the desk, close enough that I catch the way his forearm flexes under his sleeve.
I angle in beside him to point at the diagram, which is a tactical error, because now I can smell him properly.
Clean skin, laundry detergent, and the faint tang of concrete dust that never quite washes out.
"You always this hands-on?" he murmurs, and the question feels like it's about something other than pour schedules.
"Only when it matters," I manage.
"I don't like surprises," he says, his voice sounds rough.
"I don't either. That's why I'm here."
He straightens, turning to face me fully, and I have to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. "You don't back down," he says.
"I'm not paid to." I look at him defiantly. I do not back down.
"You're crowding me," I say, a little breathlessly
"Am I?" It’s not a question, more like a challenge.
I step closer instead of retreating, my shoulder brushing his chest, and I hear his breath catch. Got you, I think, with satisfaction.
"That picture's already gone," he says quietly, something raw in his voice. "You made sure of that the second you walked into Marlene's and didn't flinch."
For a second I think he might lean in. I think I might let him.
A knock sounds on the door. "Boss? We need you out here."
Caleb closes his eyes briefly before he steps back, and the sudden space between us feels colder than it should.
"Send me your notes," he says, his voice deliberately professional now.
When he steps aside to let me pass, his hand brushes my lower back, just for a second, but it feels like he’s branded me.
By late afternoon, I've documented seventeen minor issues and successfully avoided being alone with Caleb for six hours, which is making me twitchy. Not the work, the work is fine. It's the awareness that's killing me, the constant consciousness of where he is on the site.
I'm packing up my equipment when I hear boots on gravel behind me.
"Heading out?" Caleb asks. He’s three feet away, with concrete dust on his forearms where he's rolled his sleeves up.
"Yeah, I got what I needed. Are we having two conversations right now?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at the note in his voice.
"Depends on whether you want to acknowledge what happened in the trailer."
"Nothing happened in the trailer."
"No," he agrees, holding my gaze. "It didn't. But it almost did, and we both know it."
I wasn't prepared for him to just put it out there. "That was a proximity thing. Tight spaces, high stress."
"You done lying to yourself, or should I give you a minute?"
"Excuse me?"
"I felt it too," he says, low enough that only I can hear him. "That was attraction, and it's been there since the diner."
"Even if that's true, it doesn't change anything. Getting involved with the site supervisor is exactly the kind of complication I can't afford."
"I know, believe me, I know. But ignoring it isn't making it go away, Rena."
Hearing my name in that voice cracks something in my resolve. "So what are you suggesting? That we acknowledge it and pretend it doesn't exist? Because that's not how chemistry works."
"I don't have a good answer," he finally says. "I just know I don't want to pretend I don't notice you. And I don't want you to pretend you don't notice me."
"This is a terrible idea," I say softly.
"Probably. I'm done fighting it for today. Tomorrow we'll be professional. But today, I'm going to admit I spent half the day thinking about what would've happened if no one knocked on that door. And you're going to decide if you want to pretend you weren't thinking the same thing."
"I'm not asking for anything," he says. "I'm just being honest. The rest is up to you."
He turns and walks to his truck, and I watch him drive away knowing with complete certainty that tomorrow's going to be impossible.
Because he's right.
I was thinking the same thing.