Page 54 of Untroubled Heart

I clear my throat, putting necessary distance between us.

Callie pulls away, stacking all the chosen samples together. “Should I start putting in orders with the suppliers for these?” she asks, avoiding my eyes.

“Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks.”

She nods, piling everything into her hands, and I can’t tell if she’s a great actress or if maybe I affect her too.

Chapter twenty

I can’t believe I waited twenty-three years before throwing my first sledgehammer through a wall. This shit is both empowering and therapeutic. After the call I got this morning, I needed this.

Derek was officially released. My lawyers are pushing for his to present our offer, encouraging a clean break since we had already agreed to the terms verbally, and advising them we will go to court if they continue to create unnecessary delays.

I lift the hammer back and send it through what’s left of the wall, one final blow making it all crumble down.

“I love it already,” Mason says from behind me, his chest warming my back with his proximity. It’s especially appreciated today since it’s unseasonably cold, the sky outside shrouded in grey.

I nod, heaving as I take in the room now that the dust has settled. It’s much more open with the fireplace as a central focal point between the kitchen and dining room.

“You, ah, kinda went to town there.”

“Sorry,” I say, placing the sledgehammer down to start loading the fallen bricks into a wheelbarrow.

“It’s alright.” Mason helps load the rubble, his attention lingering so intently I can feel it like a weight on my shoulders. “Sometimes it unlocks pent-up energy.”

“I can see that.” Sighing, I toss another brick into the wheelbarrow.

“Everything okay? You’ve seemed off this morning.”

“Yeah.” My voice wobbles as I reach for another brick.

He’s quiet as he watches me, and I’m not sure if I’m in the mood to be vulnerable with him about this. To let him see the depths of the mess I made with my ex, how stupid I was to get mixed up with him, and how I failed to protect myself. I don’t want him to pity me or risk seeing a look in his eyes that says I should have known better. I can’t handle that. Not from him. Not when my head can’t comprehend this man is my boss, despite the way things have felt different between us lately—working on the house, picking samples, the way he stepped up when Navie came to the office last week. My heart is currently giving a middle finger to the professional line we drew weeks ago, while my head keeps pointing out the other side of my life that demands logic, not emotion.

“Callie? About the other day—”

I snatch up another brick, but it slips just as quickly from my hand, hitting my leg before dropping with a clunk to the ground.

“Ahh, shit.” I clutch my shin with a hiss, squeezing away the sting.

Mason comes rushing to his knees in front of me, hands gingerly holding behind my calf and lower thigh.

“Can I see?” he says gently, looking up at me from under his long, dark lashes.

I pull my hands away, wincing as cool air hits my cut. There’s blood dripping just below my knee.

“I’ve got a first-aid kit out the front.” He stands, then scoops one arm behind my knees, the other around my back as he lifts me into his arms and carries me outside.

Setting me on one of the chairs on the porch, he pulls off his safety gloves, then reaches for the first-aid kit stored beneath the trestle table we always eat lunch at. He pulls out some wipes, getting to work on cleaning the cut first.

He’s so close to me, my other knee touches his chest, where he leans in. I clench my toes in an effort to stay still, but he must misread the way my legs tremble in restraint as pain, not the proximity of him.

A shiver ripples up my spine, the air cool and the sky so dark it’s as if we’re approaching midnight, yet it’s barely halfway through the morning. He tosses the dirty wipe away, then reaches for another, bringing his free hand to the back of my calf, barely touching me even though I feel it all over. “You okay?”

I nod. At least I think I do.

“I think the bleeding’s slowing. It doesn’t look too deep.” Mason grabs a bottle of water, leaving the absence of his palm still burning against my leg, and slowly pours it over my wound. His thumb caresses the sensitive skin, careful not to touch it directly. When he’s satisfied it looks okay, he grabs a cloth, patting the area dry.

He uncaps some ointment, and as if I might break, he soothes the cream over the cut.