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The back of Wade’s gray T-shirt was wet with sweat as he swung his hammer. His shirtsleeves were the snug kind that hugged his biceps. Wade was stronger than she remembered—much more filled out than the twenty-year-old lanky boy who had kissed her goodbye when he left for an ill-fated fishing trip. The years had chiseled his muscles and built his work ethic.
Cassidy stepped into his line of vision and he stilled. Set his hammer down on the platform.
“Everything okay?” His eyes searched hers. “You okay?”
They hadn’t spoken since their conversation by Sheep and Romeo’s enclosure. Cassidy had sent Piper to stay with some friends who had kids Piper’s age to play with, but the few times Piper had been on the property, Wade hadn’t tried to make contact with her behind Cassidy’s back. He had respectfully waited for Cassidy to make a move.
“How come you’re still out here?”
He propped a hand on the framing he had been working on. “There’s still work to be done.”
“That’s what tomorrow’s for.”
He shrugged. “If there’s still light to work by, might as well keep at it.”
“Is this some twisted sort of penance? Because you know you don’t need to do that.”
He pressed off the framing and cocked his head. “Don’t I?”
The question was best left ignored. She didn’t need to get into deep conversations with him.
Cassidy lofted the basket. “I brought you food.”
He raised an eyebrow. The left one.
“A man’s gotta eat.” Suddenly self-conscious, she set the basket on the platform near where he was standing. “When you’re done, you can leave the dirty dishes right inside the dining hall and I’ll deal with them in the morning.” She started to turn away but Wade caught her arm in a light hold.
“Stay with me.” His voice was a soft caress.
She stared down at the hand on her arm. His work glove was rough against her skin.
He offered a hint of a smile. “It would be nice to have some company.”
If she stayed, she could bring everything back to the kitchen afterward and deal with any leftovers instead of letting them be ripe in the morning.
“Alright.” Cassidy slipped away from him and turned her attention on the basket. Setting things up, taking care of others, these were the things that calmed her. She found comfort in the simple action of laying out silverware and pouring drinks. She lifted the plate out and started to fill a cup with the lemonade.
Wade tugged off his work gloves. “You don’t have to serve me. That’s not what I meant.”
She motioned toward a relatively clean patch of plywood. “Sit. You’ve been on your feet for at least twelve hours today.” She started to hand him the plate but froze. A patchwork of black and purple blisters covered both of his hands. Some of his fingers had patches of skin that were completely ripped open. Blood had dried along his knuckles. “Oh, Wade. That has got to hurt.”
Wade fisted his hands and let them drop to his sides. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She placed his food on the plywood, then turned and seized his wrist. She yanked his arm so she could see his hand but he kept his fingers fisted tightly.
Cassidy sent him her best don’t-mess-with-me-I’m-a-mom look. “You either open up this hand or I’ll pry your fingers open. It’s up to you how this goes down but I win either way.”
Wade flinched as his fingers unfurled. A large blister on his palm oozed a shiny liquid. Without a word, Cassidy let go of him and started packing everything back in the basket.
“What are you doing?” Wade’s brow bunched.
“Come on.” She jerked her chin. “Up to my office.” She held up a finger. “This isn’t a discussion. Unless you want me to call Rhett out here—and you know he’ll give you a piece of his mind and then some if he sees your hands like this—you’ll follow me.” Cassidy started up the hill.
Wade chuckled and followed after her. “Yes, ma’am.”
She led Wade into her office, where she scooped up all the papers on her desk and set them in a pile on top of her file cabinet. Cassidy pulled the food out of the basket again and motioned for him to take the comfortable desk chair. Wade required zero encouragement to dig in. He had tucked through most of the food in the time it took her to find her first aid supplies. She would have to remember to move them to a more accessible spot for the future.
Wade glanced around as he finished the second brownie. “What do you do in here?”
She shrugged. “Menu planning, research nutritional information or recipes when we have people with different dietary needs. And mundane things too—like ordering supplies, updating the spreadsheet with best-by dates, managing the kitchen staff when we have enough people to warrant one. Schedule volunteers for dish crew.”
He looked up at her. “I’m proud of you—of all you’ve accomplished.”
“I cook food.” She blew her hair out of her eyes. “It’s not exactly earth-shattering stuff.”
“Well, for starters, you cook amazing food. This—” he pointed at his empty plate “—was the best food I’ve had in months. You beat out the chefs on most of the luxury boats I worked on.” He got to his feet and loaded everything into the basket again. “But it’s more than that, Cass. You’re more confident than before. You’re more you—or who you were always supposed to be—if that makes any sense.”
How dare he talk like that, as if he knew her, as if he cared. As if he saw her truly, better than anyone else ever had.
He trailed her as she made her way to a sink located near the food-prep area. A sign marked the sink for hand-washing only. There were others meant for food. Cassidy eased the basket from his grasp and set it on the counter. Then she took his hands and placed them under a stream of running water.
“Rinse. Wash well with the soap.” She opened a drawer and drew out a clean towel. “Then we’ll blot them dry.”
Wade obeyed her instructions. He used his elbow to turn the water off and then stepped her way, his hands cocked at a ninety-degree angle as water dripped down his forearms. He looked like some doctor in a TV drama scrubbing in for surgery. She suppressed a smile at the thought.
Cassidy hopped onto the counter and reached for one of his hands. She gently pressed the towel against it, making sure not to rub or scrape the blisters.
“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”
She blew hair out of her face again, then stilled when his finger traced along her cheek, up over her ear. A featherlight touch as he tucked her hair away for her. The trail where his finger had grazed flamed with sensation.
She tugged his hand away from her cheek, setting both of them palm up on her knees so she could disinfect the area with alcohol wipes. Plenty of the blisters had popped, leaving his healing skin open to infection.
His eyes stayed on her face as she worked. “Cass?” He waited until she met his gaze. “I’m sorry. If I could take back everything, I would.” He swallowed a few times.
She looked away. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re alive.”
He smiled fully for the first time since he had been back. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s worth a whole lot. I was starting to think you liked me better when I was dead,” he said.
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