Sharing won’t cross a line
SHARING WON’T CROSS A LINE
Brynn
The next morning I came downstairs to find Wyatt sitting out on the patio. He’d moved the chair close to the door and had it open a crack, but he was facing out toward the lake. In his hands was a small chunk of wood and a pocketknife he was using to whittle.
I pulled the door open and stepped out, causing him to pause as he looked up at me. “Morning,” I said, my voice still rough with sleep.
“Morning.” I loved how rumbly and deep his voice was in the morning. It was my favorite part of having him with me all the time because I got to see all different sides of him.
“What are you working on?” I asked as I sat in the wooden Adirondack chair next to his.
He looked down at his hands like he’d forgotten he was holding something and then shook his head. “Nothing really.”
I was disappointed, but I shouldn’t have been.
He was paid to protect me, not to share his hobbies with me.
I faced out toward the water, listening to the birds chirp in the early morning light and watching the gentle ripples in the water from fish coming up to the surface before immediately dropping back down.
“My grandpa taught me to whittle and carve wood when I was a kid.” I faced Wyatt, surprised he was sharing with me.
“We used to spend a week every summer with him. He wanted me to have a hobby I could do whenever I got bored, and he’d already taught my brother and me to always have a pocketknife on us.
He figured anywhere we went we could find a stick or piece of wood.
He taught me how to carve animals and then more elaborate things, and I guess it sort of stuck as a hobby.
But he was right. Anywhere I went, even when I was a Seal, I could always find some wood and make something.
It was a way to keep me grounded when my life felt chaotic.
” His lips tilted in a shy grin. “But it’s also just fun to do sometimes. ”
“Will you teach me?”
His eyes widened as we stared at each other for a few seconds too long, but then he nodded and grabbed another small piece of wood next to him and handed it to me. He dug in his pocket for a second knife and I arched my brow. “Can never be too prepared,” he said as his smile grew.
Was it possible for a heart to swoon? Because it felt like mine did.
His smile was boyish and light. It was completely different from any look he’d ever given me, and it made me feel like I was getting to see a piece of him he rarely showed to others.
Maybe I shouldn’t have felt that way. I didn’t know what he was like when he wasn’t working, but it felt special, nonetheless.
He scooted closer and showed me how to properly hold the knife and to always carve away from my body—at least until I was more experienced.
He talked me through the simple design, and I followed all his instructions with the same focus and care I would give to one of my songs.
He didn’t have to share this with me, and I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t taking it seriously.
By the time we were done, I’d made a small wooden heart.
I beamed up at him, proud of myself. “I know it’s simple, but I think it turned out pretty good for my first try.
” Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was obviously a heart, and more than that, it was something Wyatt had taught me how to do, which made it even more special.
His smile was soft. “Sometimes the simplest designs mean the most.”
Our gazes locked and his smile slipped away.
My breaths grew uneven and my heart raced.
He was so close, all it would take to kiss him would be to lean forward.
His gaze dropped down to my mouth, and we both moved infinitesimally closer to each other.
I could feel his breath skate across my face, and I was dying to know how he’d kiss me.
Would he take over the kiss if I made the move first?
Or would he savor it like a fine whiskey?
My eyelids started to close as I worked up the courage to close that small gap between us when he suddenly cleared his throat and sat back. His gaze was focused on the lake for a second before he stood up and shoved his now closed knife into his pocket.
“I’ll make us some breakfast since I’m sure you’re hungry.” He didn’t wait for my response before rushing inside.
I fell back against the Adirondack chair, my own gaze now lost to the gentle lapping of the lake from the soft morning breeze. I had been so close. So painfully close. And he’d once again reminded me with his actions that nothing could happen between us.
The problem was I’d seen the look in his eyes, recognized it for what it was. He wanted me as badly as I wanted him, and that knowledge was a dangerous thing to my crumbling resolve.