Chapter Nine
Ruby
The cut is clean, which means I did it right. Which also means I should be focused on that.
I drag the blade a little slower this time, cutting the drywall the way he showed me. Controlled. Careful.
Normal. Just be normal.
“Like this?” I feel him watching me.
“Yeah.” Short. Simple. Like nothing happened. He takes another step back, putting more distance between us.
Good. That’s what this is supposed to be because nothing did happen.
I press a little deeper on the second pass, focusing on the resistance of the wall, the sound of the blade catching enough to bite through the surface.
Work. That’s what this is. Not… whatever I thought it was for half a second. I’m an idiot. I adjust my weight. The cut is clean.. “Okay. So I keep going?”
“Slow. You don’t need to rush it.” His voice holds an edge of something I can’t quite place. I block both the low rumble and the scent of his cologne from my consciousness.
“I’m not rushing.”
He arches an eyebrow. “You’re pushing.”
God, how did I ever not notice how bossy he is? Or how well he calls me on my bullshit. “That’s different.”
“It’s not.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. Just habit. Easier to lean into that than…. Anything else.
After scoring the next section, I set the blade down and brushed drywall dust off my hands. It clings to my skin, settling into the creases of my fingers.
“You want to check it?”
He moves in to look at the cut. Close enough that I’m aware of him again but not touching this time.
Not like before. Which is good. Better. Safer. But sadly, disappointing.
He presses along the edge. “That’s clean.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I ignore the skipping of my heartbeat. His praise shouldn’t impact me the way it does, so I tamp down the rush of warmth that tries to steal across my cheeks and block everything else out.
We fall into a rhythm after that. Small adjustments. Short instructions. Passing tools back and forth without looking at each other. Like we’ve done this before. Like this is easy.
Except it’s not. Because every time I step a little too close, I feel it…. That pull. That almost. And then I remember the way he stepped back. Fast. Like he was afraid I’d make it into something it wasn’t supposed to be.
So I don’t step close again.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest and surveys my progress. “You’re getting it.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“You kind of are.”
“I’m adjusting expectations.”
I huff a breath. “That’s incredibly rude.”
“It’s accurate.”
There it is. Or normal brand of barbed back-and-forth insults. Familiar. Safe.
I grab the tape measure while biting back a laugh. After pulling it out, I catch the end against the edge of the frame. “Okay, so if I take this section out, just this part, I won’t screw anything up?”
“Not if you stop where I told you to stop.”
“Which I will.”
The corner of his lip tips upward like he’s fighting back a grin. “You won’t.”
“I will.”
He already knows the answer. Unfortunately, so do I.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. Just… less charged. Or maybe I’m just pretending it is.
His phone buzzes on the counter. Neither of us move. He doesn’t move right away. Just looks at the screen for a second longer than necessary. Neither of us move. It vibrates again.
I look back at the wall before I can read into it. Don’t.
He picks up the phone and swipes the screen. After he reads the message, he sets it back down without saying anything. Of course he doesn’t. It’s not any of my business.
A second later, it buzzes again. This time he exhales, low, under his breath. “I’ve gotta go.”
Just like that.
I nod, already stepping back, putting space where it belongs. “Yeah. Of course.”
He grabs his keys off the counter, glancing at the wall one more time. “Don’t go past that line.”
“I won’t.” His expression is one of disbelief. “I said I won’t.” His expression is one of disbelief. “I said I won’t.”
The longer he stays, the harder it is to push back the disappointment of his quick retreat, and the realization that he’s likely leaving for someone else.
“Alright.”
That’s it. No explanation. No reason. Just… leaving. I don’t ask. Not why. Not where. Because I already know what that looks like.
Girls like Lindsey don’t wait around. And guys like Xavier don’t make them.
The door shuts behind him a second later. The house feels bigger again. I stand there, staring at the line on the wall, the place where I’m supposed to stop.
Where I will stop. Because I’m not about to make the same mistake twice. Not with the wall. Not with him.
I pick up the saw again, pressing it into the drywall. Controlled. Careful. Exactly where it’s supposed to be.