Beneath the Summer Sky - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading Beneath the Summer Sky, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of Beneath the Summer Sky.
I didn't mean to touch him.
It just... happened.
We were fixing the damn chicken coop of all things — Graham holding up a beam while I hammered it into place, both of us sweating in the late afternoon sun. He grunted every time I leaned in too far, muttering something about doing it himself, but I just smirked and kept working.
I liked making him flustered. He didn't show it, not really, but I could see it in the way his jaw clenched when I got too close. Feel it in the silence that stretched between us, thicker than the summer heat.
I climbed down from the ladder, legs a little shaky, brushing my palms together to clear the dust. And then I turned too fast, bumped right into him.
My hand went to his chest on instinct to steady myself.
That was it. A single touch.
But everything inside me snapped.
His chest was solid and warm under my palm, and for a second, just one split-second, I didn't move. Neither did he.
It felt like the world paused.
His eyes dropped to where my hand rested against him, and then rose slowly, locking with mine. Something dark flickered there. Sharp. Hungry.
I stepped back fast, heat rushing to my cheeks like wildfire. "Sorry," I breathed, way too quickly. "I didn't—"
"It's fine," he said, voice low and tight.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't fine.
Because I still felt it. That zing in my fingertips. That pull. Like my body had recognized something my heart hadn't caught up to yet.
Graham went back to work like nothing happened, grabbing the next piece of wood and turning away. But his movements were stiff, almost mechanical.
I took a few deep breaths and followed him in silence, trying to focus on anything else. The chickens. The tools. The sweat sticking to the back of my neck.
Not his arms flexing as he worked. Not the way his shirt clung to his back. And definitely not the low, rough sound of his voice when he asked me to hand him the drill.
But my hands still tingled. My heart still raced. And every time I glanced at him, I knew he was doing the same damn thing I was,pretending like something didn't happen.
Even though it did.
It was just a brush of skin. An accidental touch.
But it felt like the start of something I couldn't take back.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to.
It just... happened.
We were fixing the damn chicken coop of all things — Graham holding up a beam while I hammered it into place, both of us sweating in the late afternoon sun. He grunted every time I leaned in too far, muttering something about doing it himself, but I just smirked and kept working.
I liked making him flustered. He didn't show it, not really, but I could see it in the way his jaw clenched when I got too close. Feel it in the silence that stretched between us, thicker than the summer heat.
I climbed down from the ladder, legs a little shaky, brushing my palms together to clear the dust. And then I turned too fast, bumped right into him.
My hand went to his chest on instinct to steady myself.
That was it. A single touch.
But everything inside me snapped.
His chest was solid and warm under my palm, and for a second, just one split-second, I didn't move. Neither did he.
It felt like the world paused.
His eyes dropped to where my hand rested against him, and then rose slowly, locking with mine. Something dark flickered there. Sharp. Hungry.
I stepped back fast, heat rushing to my cheeks like wildfire. "Sorry," I breathed, way too quickly. "I didn't—"
"It's fine," he said, voice low and tight.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't fine.
Because I still felt it. That zing in my fingertips. That pull. Like my body had recognized something my heart hadn't caught up to yet.
Graham went back to work like nothing happened, grabbing the next piece of wood and turning away. But his movements were stiff, almost mechanical.
I took a few deep breaths and followed him in silence, trying to focus on anything else. The chickens. The tools. The sweat sticking to the back of my neck.
Not his arms flexing as he worked. Not the way his shirt clung to his back. And definitely not the low, rough sound of his voice when he asked me to hand him the drill.
But my hands still tingled. My heart still raced. And every time I glanced at him, I knew he was doing the same damn thing I was,pretending like something didn't happen.
Even though it did.
It was just a brush of skin. An accidental touch.
But it felt like the start of something I couldn't take back.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to.
End of Beneath the Summer Sky Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to Beneath the Summer Sky book page.