Chapter Two: Shed Secrets
The days following that humid afternoon in the kitchen stretched into a fragile reprieve for Mara. Work kept her tethered to her desk, her laptop humming with spreadsheets as she balanced accounts for the local hardware store and a bakery downtown. Lily's chatter filled the evenings--school gossip, swim practice updates--while Mara nodded along, her mind drifting to the taste of strawberries and the press of Theo's lips. She was grateful for the distraction, for the excuse to stay busy. Avoiding him felt like survival.
Theo, too, had been scarce. Football practice ran late most afternoons, and Lily mentioned he'd joined the school's volunteer cleanup crew, hauling trash bags along the beach until dusk. Mara caught glimpses of him once or twice--his tall, lanky frame jogging past with teammates, dark curls bouncing--but she ducked inside, busying herself with laundry or weeding the wildflower garden. The distance dulled the ache, or so she told herself.
By Friday, the air had cooled, a crisp edge hinting at fall. Mara, 38 and restless, stood in her faded sundress, auburn hair loose and tangled from the wind. Her fair, freckled skin glowed faintly from a morning walk, fine lines crinkling her hazel eyes as she squinted at the overcast sky. Her slender and petite frame, softened by gentle curves honed by yoga and years of motherhood, shifted as she hauled a bag of mulch to the shed behind the house. The physical labor was a welcome release, grounding her runaway thoughts.
She didn't hear the gate creak until it was too late. Theo stepped into the yard, his 6'1" frame filling the space, football gear slung over one shoulder. At 18, he was all lean muscle and sun-kissed skin, his green eyes catching the dim light like sea glass. His dark curls clung damply to his forehead--practice must've just ended--and his t-shirt stuck to his chest, outlining the strength football had carved into him. Raised by his grandmother two streets over, a small-town kid with strong hands from summer jobs, he stood there, watching her with that same quiet intensity she couldn't shake.
"Mrs. C," he said, his voice low, a thread of something dangerous woven into it. "Lily said you might need help with the shed."
Mara froze, the mulch bag slipping slightly in her grip. She'd mentioned it to Lily in passing--damn it. "I've got it," she said quickly, turning to hoist the bag onto a shelf. But her foot caught on a rake, and she stumbled, the bag tipping.
He was there in an instant, catching it with one hand, his other steadying her elbow. His touch seared through the thin fabric of her dress, and she sucked in a breath, their bodies inches apart. "Careful," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers, green and burning, a flicker of fascination crossing his face as he took in her delicate, petite form. The shed's dimness closed around them, the air thick with the scent of earth and his sweat.
