“Coffee?”
“Please.”
She poured me a cup and slid it across the counter.
Our fingers touched.
Neither of us moved immediately.
It lasted maybe a second.
Two at most.
But her gaze lifted to mine.
Something quiet passed between us.
Then she pulled away.
“Careful,” she said. “It’s hot.”
I wondered if she meant the coffee.
For the next two days, I kept myself busy.
Michelle had a list of things around the house she had been avoiding: a leaking faucet, a loose cabinet hinge, boxes in the attic, a porch light that had apparently been dead since Christmas.
I fixed everything I could.
Work gave my hands something to do while my mind tried not to notice her.
It failed.
I noticed when she stood too close while handing me tools.
I noticed when her hand landed on my shoulder as she squeezed past me.
I noticed that she sometimes looked at me, then looked away before I could catch her.
