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Please. Thank you. Could you verify. I’ve attached.

Civil enough to bring home to church. Distant enough to require postage.

I slid the phone into my pocket and tightened the nut on the gate hinge. The wrench slipped, skinning one knuckle. I put the knuckle in my mouth and looked at the hinge instead of at her.

The gate had become a straightforward problem. Lift it. Brace it. Replace the worn hardware. Check the swing.

I was developing a powerful affection for gates.

Behind me, her boots crossed the gravel. I pulled my hand away from my mouth and turned.

“Will this be ready for the site walk?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll revise the diagram.”

She stopped outside the gate’s swing, which put her a little more than four feet away. Yesterday, at the table, she’d taken the far chair. When I’d come into the bunkhouse kitchen, she’d remembered something outside. When we’d checked the stock alley, she’d walked along the opposite rail.

She pushed her hair behind her ear. I watched her notice me watching and drop her hand.

That was new too. Before, she’d done things without accounting for me. Lost pens. Forgotten coffee. Taken three bites of dinner with one hand while making notes with the other.

Now she seemed to know exactly where every inch of herself was.

“I’ll be at the bunkhouse if you have questions,” she said.

Away she went.

I waited until she was inside before I hit the gate with the heel of my hand. Not hard. Just enough to make the hinge squeak.

“Same,” I told it.

***

What I couldn’t figure out was whether I’d crossed a line she didn’t know how to name, or whether she’d drawn one and expected me to have enough sense to see it.

She’d kissed me back.

That was true.

She’d also left.

That was true too, and wanting the first fact didn’t give me permission to throw away the second.

By noon I’d checked the gate six times.

Tuck came through carrying a coil of rope and stopped beside me.

“Need a hand?”

“Hold this.”

He held the gate while I tested the latch again. It worked. Had worked the last five times.

“Looks good,” he said.

“Dangerous praise. Might turn my head.”