Chapter Six
Marc
By Wednesday afternoon, bright flags and painted lines mark the ground between Cabins Five and Six. Nolan has the permit. Kelsey has the materials order confirmed, the inspector tentatively scheduled, and a backup list of nearby rentals in case we fail.
I have spent the past eighteen hours trying not to think about my hand beneath her dress. One of these efforts is less successful than the others.
Kelsey is waiting beside the marked route when I return from work. She wears old jeans, boots, and a faded T-shirt with Eight Pines printed across the chest. Her hair is tied back, and work gloves protrude from her back pocket.
"No," I say as I step out of my truck.
She looks behind her. "Who are you talking to?"
"The gloves."
"My gloves haven't said anything."
"They're planning to."
"Then we should hear them out."
I close the truck door and walk toward her. "This isn't a flower bed. We're exposing damaged electrical conduit."
"After you disconnect and verify it."
"You are not getting in the trench."
"I own the trench."
"You don't own it yet. We haven't dug it."
Her eyes narrow, but her mouth is fighting a smile. "Are you always this bossy?"
"Only when someone is carrying work gloves toward an energized service."
"Nolan hasn't arrived. I haven't touched anything, and I won't. I came out to understand what you're doing. Once the line is safe, I can move dirt as well as anyone."
The irritation beneath her calm words is real. I recognize my mistake. Kelsey does not need another person telling her to step away from her own property while the capable people handle the problem.
"You're right," I say.
That startles her more than the argument did. "What?"
"You're right. Once Nolan and I disconnect the run, test it, and establish the safe work area, you can help with the hand digging outside the restricted space. You wear the gloves and safety glasses I give you, and if either of us tells you to stop, you stop."
"Because you're in charge?"
"Because one of us may see something the other doesn't. The same rule applies to me. If you see water entering the trench, unstable soil, or anything that worries you, you tell me to stop."
She gazes at me for a moment before nodding. "I can agree to that."
"Good."
"But I have my own safety glasses."
"Naturally."
Nolan arrives ten minutes later and supervises the shutdown. After we lock out the circuit and verify the conductor is dead at both ends, Kelsey produces her safety glasses from the maintenance shed with a triumphant grin. They are purple.
"Very professional," I say.
"And, yes, they're impact rated."
I give her a thumbs up with a smile. We begin near the coupling marked on the plans.
The soil is packed with roots and small stones, forcing us to work slowly with insulated hand tools.
Kelsey remains outside the immediate conduit zone, filling buckets with loosened earth and carrying them to the tarp.
She works without complaint, although I catch her watching me each time I drive the narrow shovel into the ground.
I remove my overshirt after twenty minutes. Her attention becomes less subtle.
"Something wrong?" I ask.
"I'm supervising."
"My shirt?"
"Everything on the job site."
Nolan mutters something about checking the panel and walks away.
By six-thirty, we expose the damaged section. A coupling has separated enough to allow moisture inside, and the conduit shifted against a rock until one edge cracked. The conductor insulation is discolored where water collected inside the low point.
"Can you repair only this section?" Kelsey asks.
I examine the exposed ends while Nolan checks the remaining run. "If the wire pulls clean and the conduit on both sides tests sound, yes."
"Meaning?"
"Less material, less digging, and a decent chance of passing inspection Friday morning."
Relief softens her entire face. She closes her eyes briefly, and I see how tightly she has been holding herself since Monday. Before I can stop myself, I rise and take the full bucket from her hands.
"We aren't finished," she says.
"No, but you are for five minutes. Drink some water."
"Marc."
"Kelsey."
Her shoulders drop. "Fine. Five minutes."
She walks toward the cabin office, and I watch the swing of her hips until Nolan returns.
"You might want to be less obvious," he says.
"Why?"
"No reason." He crouches beside the conduit. "I remember being thirty-five."
"I'm thirty-eight."
"Then you should have learned subtlety by now."
"Hasn't been necessary."
Nolan laughs. "It may be with that one. Kelsey's had enough people underestimate her."
I look toward Kelsey. She is drinking from a bottle with her head tipped back, exposing the graceful line of her throat. Dirt streaks one cheek. She is tired, worried, and still prepared to work beside us until the light disappears.
"I don't underestimate her," I say.
"Good."
We install the new section of conduit before dark and seal both ends against additional moisture. The new conductors will arrive tomorrow morning. Until then, we secure the trench and cover it against the possibility of rain.
Kelsey remains beside me while Nolan packs his tools. "You were right about the bend."
"The plans were right. I followed them."
"You noticed what mattered. Thank you."
Praise from her feels better than it should. I have run jobs worth millions of dollars and stood beside inspectors while entire systems energized without a fault. None of those moments warm me the way five words of appreciation from Kelsey do.
Nolan leaves. The property has three cabins dark and the others glowing among the pines. Kelsey and I stand beside the lake with dirt on our clothes and a narrow space between us that feels increasingly unnecessary.
"I owe you dinner," she says.
"You fed me twice."
"Tonight was supposed to be sandwiches for the crew. Nolan took his and escaped before I could make him sit down."
"Smart man."
"Are you afraid of turkey and Swiss?"
"I'm afraid of being alone in your kitchen again."
Kelsey lets out a laugh. "You behaved very well last night."
"It nearly killed me."
She smiles, then glances toward the water. "We could eat on the dock. Neutral territory."
"The dock that threw us into the lake?"
"I fixed the board this morning."
We carry the sandwiches and two bottles of water to the end of the main guest dock, far from the electrical service and wide enough for several chairs. Kelsey sits with her legs hanging over the edge. I lower myself beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch.
The mountain casts a long shadow across the water.
Sunset colors the opposite shore in copper and rose, and the lake reflects the pines so clearly that the world seems doubled.
I have worked in beautiful places before, but I usually see them through a windshield or from the roof of a half-finished building.
"You were right," I say.
Kelsey unwraps her sandwich. "I enjoy those words. What was I right about this time?"
"Traveling somewhere isn't the same as living there."
She looks at me, her eyes softer. "Do you like moving so much?"
"I liked it at first. Every job was a step up. Bigger crew, bigger project, more money. Then moving became the thing I did because I was good at it."
"That isn't the same as actually wanting to move frequently."
"No."
The truth surprises me. I have been telling myself that the next promotion matters, that supervising more crews and covering more states is the natural reward for the years I spent learning the work. I have not asked whether I want the life attached to it.
"What would you choose if work didn't choose for you?" she asks.
I look across the lake, but the answer is sitting beside me with dirt on her cheek and one purple pair of safety glasses tucked into her hair. It is too soon to say that.
"I don't know," I admit.
Kelsey nods instead of pressing. We finish eating as the sun lowers, talking about smaller things.
She tells me which cabins have regular guests and how one couple has returned every anniversary for twelve years.
I tell her about an apprentice who labeled a circuit absolutely not this one after spending two hours tracing it through an old factory.
By the time darkness falls over the lake, Kelsey's thigh rests against mine.
"We should go in," she says.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves. I turn toward her and brush the dirt from her cheek with my thumb. Her skin is soft beneath the grit. Her lips part, and the last of my restraint disappears.
"Tell me to go next door," I say.
"No."
"Kelsey."
"You asked me to tell you what I want." She places her hand on my chest. "I want you to kiss me again."
I slide my hand behind her neck and take her mouth.
The kiss is nothing like the one in her kitchen.
There is no ringing phone, no dirty dish, and no wall close enough to hold us apart.
Kelsey turns fully into me and meets every stroke of my tongue with one of her own.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer until the softness of her breasts presses against my chest.
I lift her onto my lap, and she settles astride me with a low sound that tears through what remains of my control. My hands span her waist before moving over her hips, holding her where I need her. Even through two layers of denim, the heat between her thighs burns against my erection.
"Marc." My name breaks against my mouth.
I kiss along her jaw and down her neck. She tips her head, giving me access, and I taste the warm skin beneath her ear. The scent of lake water, earth, and Kelsey fills my lungs.
"I want you," I tell her. There is no point pretending otherwise. "But not out here where any guest can walk down that path."
Her hips move once against mine. "Then where?"
The question sends blood pounding through me. I grip her thighs and stand with her wrapped around my waist. Kelsey gasps and clings to my shoulders, then laughs softly as I carry her toward the shore.
"Your cabin or mine?" I ask.
She looks from Cabin Seven to Cabin Eight. For one moment, uncertainty moves through her eyes. I stop walking.
"We can wait," I say.
"I don't want to wait." Her fingers slide into my hair. "I was trying to decide whether taking the electrician next door into my bed qualifies as exceptionally poor judgment."
"What's the verdict?"
Her smile is slow and beautiful. "Ask me in the morning."
Kelsey points toward Cabin Eight. I carry her home.