4. Chapter 4 #2
“Damn, McAuley,” he said smoothly, cocking a brow. “You always answer the door looking like that? Or did I catch you at a bad time?”
Maddie blinked, her mouth parting, something flickering behind those sharp green eyes. She recovered quick, crossing her arms over her chest, lifting her chin.
“It’s fine,” she said, too fast, stepping back. “Come in.”
Yeah. That wasn’t suspicious at all.
But Heath kept his face relaxed, easy, like he hadn’t noticed anything. He stepped inside, immediately hit by the familiar scent of old wood, faded perfume, and something a little too warm, too lived-in.
He dropped his tool bag by the entryway and glanced around. The place was still a mess—half-stripped wallpaper, exposed drywall, and damage that ran deeper than just aesthetics.
“I’ll grab the rest of my stuff.” He didn’t wait for her reply, heading back out to his truck for another load.
By the time Heath finished hauling in supplies—sheets of drywall, joint compound, a stack of 2x4s, buckets of spackle, and a roll of plastic sheeting—Maddie had already poured herself a glass of water and looked significantly less flustered.
Too bad. He liked her off-balance.
“You said we were ‘working on walls’ today,” she said, watching as he set things down. “What exactly does that mean?”
“Means this place is held together with sheer willpower and bad decisions, McAuley,” Heath said, grabbing his coffee and taking another sip. “And you can’t paint over bad structure.”
Maddie sighed. “I knew that.”
“Sure you did,” he said, smirking.
He set his cup down and grabbed a utility knife, slicing into a damaged section of drywall. He knew she shot him a look, but he was already focused on the job.
The drywall in several places was crumbling, especially near the baseboards, warped from water damage that had probably started years ago.
Some of it needed to be cut out entirely and replaced.
Other sections just needed patching and sanding before paint.
And then there was the bigger issue—the interior framing behind the walls.
If what he suspected was right, the house was old enough that some of the supports were warped or rotting.
If that was the case, they’d have to reinforce with new 2x4s before closing it back up.
He ran a hand along one of the seams, feeling a slight draft against his fingertips. “Walls are poorly insulated.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That explains why my house feels like a goddamn oven.”
Heath chuckled as he hoisted a sheet of drywall onto the sawhorses, measuring out a section for replacement.
“Only gonna get worse, roasting in the summer—freezing in the winter. Especially in the winter when the chill of the ocean gets real. You got actual insulation behind these walls, or we gonna find more problems?”
She huffed, folding her arms as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him work.
“You always this bossy?”
“Only when I know what I’m doing.”
“Which is all the time?”
“You betcha.” He glanced up, letting his gaze flick over her again—her bare legs, the white tank hanging just loose enough to be dangerous. The flush was gone now, but something told him she hadn’t always been that warm.
Maybe, just maybe, she had another reason for looking so guilty when she’d opened that door.
He didn’t say anything about it.
But he was damn sure thinking it.
Heath braced a hand against the exposed framing, eyeing the gap where the old drywall had been.
The section they’d cut out had revealed exactly what he expected—shit framing.
The wood behind the walls was warped, some of it cracked, probably from years of moisture creeping in.
Not the worst he’d ever seen, but bad enough that they couldn’t just slap a new sheet over it and call it a day.
Maddie stood beside him, arms crossed, chewing the inside of her cheek as she looked at the mess.
“So, bad decisions confirmed?” she asked.
“Well.” Heath smirked. “A lot of bad patchwork going on here. Like your parents knew there were problems but thought paint would fix it.”
“Dad was always big on cheap handymen who also happened to be his friends.”
“McAuley, your entire house is a cautionary tale.”
She rolled her eyes, but he caught the small twitch of her lips. She wasn’t as high-strung about the house falling apart anymore—not with him here, fixing it.
“Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders before turning to his toolbox. “We need to brace this section before we close it up. Hand me the—” He paused, glancing at her. “You know what a speed square is?”
She blinked at him.
“…A what?”
He bit back a grin. “Speed square. Little triangle thing. Metal.”
Maddie frowned, scanning the assortment of tools scattered on the floor. She crouched down and grabbed a level.
“This?”
“No.”
She huffed, dropping it, then picked up a pry bar.
“This?”
Heath exhaled slowly, amused as hell. “McAuley, does that look like a triangle?”
She scowled, tossed it down, then grabbed a wrench, holding it up like an offering.
He shook his head, lips twitching. “What the fuck is happening right now?”
“I don’t know!” she groaned, exasperated. “You said a speed thing!”
“Speed square,” he corrected, grinning now, and reached down himself, grabbing the right tool. He held it up, shaking it slightly. “This. This is a speed square.”
Maddie crossed her arms. “You could’ve just pointed.”
“And miss this incredible display of incompetence?” Heath chuckled, setting the square against the frame and marking his cut. “No chance, McAuley.”
She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “asshole.”
“You fucking wanted this. Don’t forget.” Still grinning, he got back to work. “Alright, so here’s what we’re doing. This framing’s bowed out, so we gotta sister in a new two-by-four to reinforce it before we hang the drywall.”
Maddie frowned. “Sister?”
He nodded toward the extra wood they’d brought in earlier. “Means attaching a new board to an old one for support. Keeps the structure solid.”
She hummed like she was committing that to memory. “So basically, the house has weak bones, and you’re giving it crutches.”
Heath huffed a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.” He glanced at her as he lined up his cut. “You always need metaphors to understand basic shit?”
“Only when the teacher sucks,” she shot back.
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.”
Maddie lifted her chin. “I’m learning.”
“Sure you are, Speedy,” he said, tapping his pencil against the wood.
“Speedy?” Maddie groaned. “Oh my God, absolutely do not nickname me.”
“Absolutely yes.” Heath said, smirking as he lined up his saw. “Get used to it—or I’ll think of something worse.”
She muttered another curse under her breath, but he didn’t miss the small smile as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him work.
Heath crouched low, bracing his weight into the floorboards as the drill kicked in his grip. Each screw sank clean, the motor humming against his palm, familiar and grounding—but it didn’t touch the tension threading tight through his body.
Maddie was still right there.
Close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin radiating through the air between them. She wasn’t speaking, wasn’t moving much, but her silence felt charged. Intentional. Like she was holding something back just as hard as he was.
She again passed him the speed square when he held out his hand, her fingers brushing his. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react, just kept his head down and focus forward.
“Look at that,” he said, tone smooth. “Trainable after all.”
Her dry snort was immediate. “Maybe you’re just learning how to teach without being a dick.”
He smirked, straightening slowly, stretching the kink out of his neck as he looked sideways at her. “That sounded like praise.”
“Don’t get carried away.”
He gestured toward the exposed framing. “You see this? That’s our cut. Clean drywall fit, tight seams. No flexing. No cracking. If we do it right, it’ll hold steady through every seasonal shift.”
She crossed her arms, mouth twisted in thought. “So the house doesn’t sweat itself apart.”
“Exactly.”
He held the tape measure out to her. “You do the cut. I’ll tell you if you fuck it up.”
“What?”
“This is how we teach where I’m from.”
Her eyes narrowed at that, but she took the tape. His fingers brushed hers again, and this time, she didn’t pull back right away.
She moved to kneel at the drywall sheet, the fabric of her shorts tugging high on her thighs, her tank slipping forward with the bend of her body.
Heath looked away—fast. Stared hard at the wall like it held the secrets of the universe.
She bent again, lining the tape, marking the board, completely oblivious to how goddamn perfect she looked in that moment.
“Fifty-eight and a quarter,” she said, glancing up at him.
“Account for the bevel,” he said tightly. “Cut it short, and you’ll be cussing me out tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
He handed her the knife. She took it without a word, lining up the straightedge with careful precision.
He watched.
The steady scrape of blade over surface filled the room, slow and confident. Her hands didn’t shake. She moved like someone who didn’t want to need help, like someone desperate to prove she could handle this alone. That stubbornness? That fire?
It wrecked him.
She fit the board into place. He held it steady. She pushed, checked the corners, leaned in with her palm against the center.
“Nice,” he muttered. “That’s clean.”
Maddie looked up, slightly breathless. “That felt good.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“Satisfying, isn’t it?”
“Dangerously,” she murmured, a slow curl of a smile tugging at her mouth. “I see why this is your passion.”
Heath stepped back. The need to put space between them suddenly urgent.
“I’d quit the day job and do this full-time if I could,” he said, voice low, reaching for distraction. “This kind of work? Simple. Honest. Nothing to second guess.”
She tilted her head. “So why don’t you?”
He looked at her. “Because I can’t.”
She didn’t ask why. He didn’t offer.