* * *
“You’re trying too hard,” Andy said. “Use the weight of the hammer to build momentum and don’t try to do all the work with your own muscles. Let the hammer do the work for you.”
I adjusted the heavy sledgehammer in my sweaty fists and stepped up to the wall again. “Use the weight of the sledgehammer,” I repeated.
Andy reached out from behind me to adjust my hands on the handle. “Now try,” he said.
My shoulders burned from my previous unsuccessful efforts, but I could—I would—make this work, I decided. I pulled in a deep breath through my nose, drew the hammer back, and swung, letting the heavy steel head sail forward under its own steam.
The dull gray metal crashed through the scuffed drywall with a satisfying crunch, and I shrieked with joy as I pulled the hammer back and spun around to face Andy. He flung an arm around my waist and pulled me in close to smash his lips against mine.
“I did it,” I murmured against his mouth.
He sipped at my lips one more time and pulled back with a wide smile. “You did great,” he said. “How did it feel to finally put a hole in your parents’ wall?”
“Oh, please.” I gestured around the wide expanse of the living room, where Andy was currently demolishing walls for the next part of the renovation. “I have five siblings. You think I’ve never put a hole in a wall before? This was just the first time I did it on purpose.”
Andy laughed and kissed me again. “Yeah, point taken. Nicky literally put Ian’s head through a wall at our house one time when they were in high school.”
Ouch. I reflexively patted the top of my head. “He had to have gotten a concussion from that.”
“Surprisingly, no,” Andy said, and reached out to sweep back a strand of my hair that had come loose from my ponytail. “We’re all built like brick shithouses in my family and that apparently extends to the skull.”
Breakfast with my sister and Sam had left me feeling—well, unsettled, and so after my lab, I decided to give myself a few hours off from studying and head to my parents’ house to keep Andy company while he worked. It was part of the little routine we’d developed over the last few weeks. When Andy wasn’t utterly swamped, I visited with him if I was at home and had free time. So far, I’d learned how to hammer a nail with reasonable accuracy, use a drill, and as of today, put a hole in a wall with a sledgehammer.
I leaned into Andy’s gentle touch on my face and hair, yawning widely. He immediately pulled me in close again and I sighed happily as I nuzzled his neck with the tip of my nose. Even dusty and sweaty, he smelled and felt incredible.
“When did you even leave this morning?” he asked gently. “I woke up and you were already gone.”
“Four-thirty,” I mumbled into his warm skin. I rubbed my lips against the bristly whiskers covering his jaw. It had been several days since his last shave, and the dark shadow that covered his cheeks and chin and neck was just long and soft enough to tickle instead of burn when we kissed. “The lab called me to come in at five to fill in for somebody.”
His big hands smoothed down my back, soft and reassuring strokes. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
I pulled back and looked up at him with a smile. “I love that about you.”
Andy raised a dark brow. “Love what?”
“You just…” I struggled to find the words. I loved a lot of things about Andy at that point, honestly. “You don’t tell me I should go do something. You ask how you can help, or you just sort of put your thoughts out there and tell me that it’s up to me. I never feel like it’s passive-aggressive or judgmental. And I feel like I can do the same with you—just tell you my opinion and even if you disagree, it’s no big deal.”
His broad shoulders rose in a shrug. “We’re adults. You don’t need me to boss you around, and I don’t want to do that. Even if I have opinions about something you do, you’re allowed to tell me to piss off about it.”
“I’m not gonna tell you to piss off,” I said. “No way.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Fear—I recognized it in Andy as surely as I felt it in myself. Fear that whatever we were building together would end way too soon if life took us in different directions—which it likely would.
“I need to get back to work,” I said softly, reaching up to scratch my short nails through his scruffy beard. “You do, too.”
He turned his head to press a kiss into my palm. “Will I see you tonight?”
“Do you want me to come over?” He did, I knew he did, I just wanted to hear him say it.
“George and I are meeting up for a couple of drinks and some dinner after he gets off work, but after that, yeah. I’d like to spend the night with you.” He placed a big, warm hand over mine where it rested on his face. “You know I like to spend every night with you.”
I nodded. “I’ll be there,” I glanced over at my abandoned tote bag, full of books and my laptop. “I should probably head over now, though. I have a lot of work to get done before you get there and distract me.”
Andy grinned and leaned forward to kiss my lips one last time. “I won’t be too late. It’s just a little brother hang out. Help yourself to whatever you find in my kitchen.”
As Andy walked away, my eyes traced the long, strong lines of his body and drank in every detail, from his scuffed and paint-stained work boots, all the way up to the top of his head, covered today with a faded Seattle Mariners hat, so old and worn that the brim had begun to fray. My heart throbbed in my chest almost painfully, with affection and longing and the things I wasn’t ready to name for fear that they could never really be.
I wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but somehow, this beautiful man, who overflowed with kindness and joy and his own understated brilliance, had stolen some piece of my heart and stamped his own name on it so it would always belong to him.