9. Lena
LENA
The engineering calculations on my screen blurred into meaningless symbols as my mind drifted to last night for the fifth time in twenty minutes.
I pressed my fingertips against my temples, willing myself to focus on guardrail stress tolerances instead of the memory of Ethan’s lips against mine. The kiss replayed in an endless loop, the warmth of his hand on my arm, the look in his eyes just before he pulled away.
I slammed my coffee mug down harder than intended, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to my keyboard. This was exactly why I didn’t get personally involved in assignments.
That and the fact that it made it nearly impossible to do your job.
What was he thinking? Kissing me like that. It was totally inappropriate.
“Focus, Lena,” I muttered to the empty apartment, spreading my technical drawings across the dining table. These specifications needed to be finalized by tomorrow if we were going to meet the timeline for materials ordering.
After the argument with Ethan, it was hard to admit that he might have been right. That I wasn’t listening when the people in the town told me how important the overlook was, how important access to their businesses was.
The new construction schedule should alleviate some of the pressure on the businesses, and on parents for school drop offs. It was hard enough to get the deviation approved.
I could hear the hesitation in Jan’s voice when I outlined the changes I wanted to make. I was not known for being particularly empathetic to local plights.
I was good at my job because of my objectivity, and I had taken a chance making these changes.
They couldn’t wait now just because I was suddenly acting like a teenager with a crush.
But instead of seeing dimensions and angles, I kept seeing Ethan’s face as he backed away, leaving me dazed for a moment before my senses had come back. “I’m sorry,” he’d said, as if the kiss had been some terrible mistake.
I mean who does that?
Kisses someone that is supposed to be a colleague. Leaves without giving so much as an explanation for why they did it in the first place.
Well. Maybe he would have if you hadn't told him to go, Lena.
How had this all gotten so messy?
I pushed away from the table and paced the small apartment, stopping at the window that overlooked the garage below. Ethan’s truck was gone this morning. He was out on a service call, perhaps, or deliberately avoiding me.
Again, I thought. Who does that?
We were adults. At least, I had thought that we were.
Professional boundaries existed for a reason, especially in small communities where my recommendations would impact people’s daily lives.
Getting emotionally entangled compromised objectivity. Textbook conflict of interest.
I wasn’t looking for a replay of the moment, but it was something we should at least address. Wasn’t it?
It’s not like I was the one that kissed him. Not like I was pining for him, and he was avoiding me because he didn’t know how to let me down gently.
God, Lena, stop thinking about him.
I forced myself back to the table and attempted to calculate load requirements for the curved sections of guardrail. Ten minutes later, I realized I’d been staring at the same equation without processing it, my pencil tapping an anxious rhythm against the paper.
With a frustrated sigh, I stood again, this time moving to the old piano that had become my unexpected confidant during these weeks in Cedar Hills.
My fingers found the keys without conscious thought, playing the opening notes of a Bach prelude.
The notes were structured, disciplined, exactly what my scattered mind needed.
The music grounded me, each precise note a reminder of order and control.
I was halfway through when a knock at the door broke my concentration.
I knew who it was before I answered it. The particular rhythm of his knock had become familiar, along with so many other details I never meant to notice.
Despite my earlier thoughts, my heart jumped at the realization that he was there.
When I opened the door, Ethan stood there looking as uncomfortable as I felt, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes not quite meeting mine.
Serves him right.
“Morning,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s fine. I was just...” I gestured vaguely toward the piano.
He nodded, a hint of softness crossing his features. “Bach again. The same piece from that first night.”
The fact that he remembered, that he recognized the music, made something tighten in my chest. “Did you need something?” I asked, my tone more professional than I intended it to come across.
“Actually, yes.” He shifted his weight slightly.
“The town’s fourth of July celebration starts today, and runs through the evening.
I thought since you’re documenting community patterns, it might be useful for you to see how the center functions during the event.
Traffic flow, pedestrian usage, that sort of thing. ”
“Is that right? Well, I appreciate the thought,” I said, already formulating my excuse. “But I have these specifications to finish by tomorrow. The material orders need to?—“
“It’s not until four,” he interrupted, then caught himself. “Sorry. I just meant... you’d still have most of the afternoon to work.” He paused, then added more quietly, “I understand if you don’t want to be around me… after the other night.”
“We don’t need to discuss that,” I said quickly, despite my earlier thoughts. The last thing I needed was an awkward conversation about boundaries and professional conduct. “It was a momentary lapse. It won’t affect our working relationship.”
Something flickered in his eyes before his expression settled into polite acceptance. “Of course not. The celebration offer still stands, though. Professional perspective and all that.”
“I really should focus on work,” I repeated, gripping the door frame a little tighter. “But thank you.”
He nodded once, stepping back. “No problem. See you around, then.”
I closed the door and leaned against it, listening to his footsteps descending the metal stairs.
The apartment felt suddenly too quiet, the silence pressing in from all sides.
I returned to my work with renewed determination, arranging my papers in perfect order, opening the calculation spreadsheet with firm purpose.
Forty-five minutes later, and I had finally finished. My boss was probably not going to like the deviations, but I wrote them so that they would be hard to argue with.
My mind drifted unprompted to the celebration, and to Ethan’s offer. It started at four, and people would gather in the town center, using the very spaces my project aimed to connect and protect.
It would be professionally irresponsible not to observe how the community functions during a major event. Right? Really, I should document the traffic patterns, pedestrian flow, parking utilization...
The justifications sounded hollow even to me, but I clung to them as I closed my laptop and moved to the closet.
My usual work attire felt wrong for a communal party.
I pushed past blazers and button-downs until I found the sundress I packed as an afterthought, something I rarely had occasion to wear.
The light blue fabric felt soft against my fingers, feminine in a way my professional wardrobe rarely allowed.
I laid it on the bed, still debating. Going to the celebration meant seeing Ethan outside our professional roles again. It meant acknowledging that last night happened, that something might be shifting between us that couldn’t be contained in liaison meetings and site visits.
My phone buzzed with an email notification, another question from the materials supplier about specifications I finished. I should stay and work. I should maintain distance. I should remember that in less than two months, I’d be leaving Cedar Hills behind.
Instead, I picked up the dress and held it against myself, looking in the mirror. The woman who stared back looked uncertain in a way I wasn’t used to seeing. For the first time since arriving in this town, what happened next felt like it would be completely unpredictable.
And somehow, I was going to that July Fourth celebration anyway.
I smoothed the blue fabric of my sundress for the third time as I approached Main Street, second-guessing my decision.
The Independence Day celebration had transformed the town center.
The streets were blocked off to traffic, picnic tables were lined up along the road, bunting and flags strung overhead.
Music drifted from a small stage set up near the town square, and the air carried mingled scents of barbecue and kettle corn.
I hovered at the periphery, suddenly unsure of how to enter a space as myself rather than as “the road engineer.” The clipboard and tablet that usually served as my shields were conspicuously absent, leaving me feeling oddly vulnerable.
A familiar voice broke through my hesitation. “Well, look who’s joining the party!” Marianne approached, her usual apron replaced by a bright floral dress, a plastic cup of lemonade in her hand. “And wearing something other than work clothes, no less.”
I was thankful that it was her. It would make standing there as an outsider feel just a little less intimidating.
“I thought it would be good to see how the town center functions during the celebration,” I said, falling back on my professional explanation. “For the traffic study.”
Marianne’s smile told me that she knew there was more to me being there tonight. “Of course. Very thorough research.” She linked her arm through mine with unexpected familiarity. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some folks who won’t talk about guardrail specs or drainage systems.”