“Yeah,” he said. “How’d you know?”
“Smelled it,” I said as evenly as I could. I hadn’t given much thought to how my attention to such a small detail would look. Desperate and maybe even a little stalkerish.
“What’d you do, steal this from the coffee shop?” he asked as he walked over to the table that he’d somehow managed to pry free from the floor at some point and had placed in the center of the room. He put down the coffee and carefully pried the lid off.
“Uh, yeah,” I said with as much indifference as I could.
Mace removed the cap and turned the cinnamon over to sprinkle some into the coffee but when nothing came out, he flipped it back and then glanced at me before removing the entire lid. I felt heat crawl into my cheeks as he looked at the safety seal still in place and then at me.
“Guess they forgot to take that off before putting it out for their customers,” I said sheepishly.
I was surprised to see a small smile tug at the edges of Mace’s mouth. “So unprofessional,” he said, though his tone held no doubt that he didn’t buy my story about me stealing the cinnamon. Since the last thing I wanted to admit to was that I’d bought the cinnamon specifically for this moment from a small market down the street, I tore my eyes from him and glanced around the space.
“How are things going?”
“I’ve almost got everything re-wired so I should be able to start working on the ceiling in the morning.”
I nodded like I knew what that meant. I hadn’t even realized the extensive water damage that had occurred to the ceiling tiles until Mace had pulled one down to show me the mold that had started to form.
“I was thinking you might want to consider some different lighting options. I know you guys probably prefer natural lighting but since you’re pretty limited in terms of windows in this room, I can install a few fixtures in the ceiling and then you can put in full spectrum fluorescent bulbs to mimic the natural light as much as possible.”
“Yeah, that would be great,” I managed to get out. I’d known the lighting would be an issue in the windowless space but hadn’t thought it was something Mace would have even considered. “How did you know about the lighting?”
Mace shrugged and sipped at his coffee. “Did some research.”
“Really?”
When there was no response, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Mace studying me over the top of his coffee as he sipped it. Whatever easiness I had spied in his gaze a few minutes earlier was gone and while he wasn’t looking at me with contempt, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off between us. It made me both nervous and frustrated. Nervous because there was a dangerous quality to Mace’s silence and frustrated because I wasn’t sure what I’d done to deserve such scrutiny. If I were smart, I’d head up to my apartment and get to work so I could ensure I had enough cash to fund my pet project but I hated the idea of hiding. I’d promised myself that after the events of four years ago, I’d never do it again.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked as I turned my attention back to the damaged walls, already knowing the answer. Mace’s silence annoyed me since I knew without a doubt that he was still watching me but I didn’t turn around. I should have been more aggressive. This was my place after all. If I wanted to help, I should have just told him I was going to.
“You know how to patch holes in drywall?”
“No,” I admitted before forcing myself to turn around. “But I’m a quick study.”
* * *
“Looks good.”
A ridiculous surge of pleasure went through me at Mace’s words. I’d like to think it was just the nuance of receiving praise for something I didn’t have a natural talent for, but I knew better. I wanted Mace’s praise and would have taken it in any form.
“Thanks,” I said as I studied my handiwork. Patching holes in drywall wasn’t something that took a lot of skill but I still felt absurdly proud of what I’d accomplished. “It’s really real,” I whispered.
“What is?”
Shit, I hadn’t even realized I’d said the words aloud.
“Nothing,” I said quickly and then turned to put the patching supplies on the table, but promptly slammed into Mace who’d somehow managed to sneak up behind me while I was lost in my reverie. His hands closed over both my upper arms and I instinctively froze. We both hung there like that for several long seconds and I found myself overwhelmed by the strength in his fingers as they pressed into me. I wondered if hands like his could deliver aching pleasure as easily as they could deliver punishing pain. And while my body wanted one of those things, my brain could only process the other. Because it was what I knew.