Chapter 1: The After-Hours Inventory
The stockroom was a tomb of dead inventory and forgotten things. Josh’s clipboard felt like a lead weight in his hands, the checklist blurring before his earnest brown eyes. He wasn’t reading it. He was watching Lauren.
She was across the aisle, balanced on the bottom rung of a rolling ladder, stretching for a box labeled ‘Carbide Bits.’ The motion pulled her company polo shirt taut against her back, then sent it riding up an inch, revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of her jeans. It was pale and smooth, a stark contrast to the dusty, industrial gloom that surrounded them. Josh’s throat went dry.
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed and flickered, casting long, jumpy shadows from the towers of cardboard. The air smelled like old oil and dust, a scent that was supposed to be about work, but right now felt charged with something else entirely.
“See something you like, Josh?”
Her voice cut through the hum. She hadn’t turned around. She just knew. He jolted, his sneaker squeaking on the concrete floor. A flush of heat raced up his neck.
“I was just… the box. It looks heavy,” he managed, his voice cracking on the last word. He winced inwardly.
Lauren descended the ladder with a soft laugh, the box under one arm like it weighed nothing. She turned. Her dark hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, but a few strands had escaped, framing her face. Her expression was a knowing smile, her eyes dancing with a private joke he was desperately trying to understand.
“It’s not. But since you’re offering.” She set the box on a shelf at his eye level and nodded at the ladder. “I need the one above it. The real heavy one. Can you grab it for me? I’m too short.”
“Sure. Yeah. Of course.” He practically threw his clipboard onto a nearby crate, the plastic clatter echoing too loudly. He approached the ladder, acutely aware of her standing so close he could smell her shampoo—something like coconut—over the sawdust.
He climbed. His limbs felt uncoordinated, too long for his body. He found the box, grunted as he pulled it toward him. She was right, it was heavier.
“Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Okay, bring it down. Careful.” Her voice was directly below him now.
He descended awkwardly, the box obscuring his view. The metal rungs felt unsteady. When he was two steps from the bottom, he stopped, unsure how to maneuver.
“Here,” she said. “Just hand it to me.”
“I got it, I can just—”
“Josh. Hand it down.”
The command was gentle, but absolute. He leaned, lowering the box into her waiting arms. She took the weight smoothly, her muscles flexing under her sleeves, and slid it onto the floor. Then she looked up at him, still perched on the ladder.
“Now, how are you getting down with me in the way?” she teased, not moving an inch.
“Oh. Right.” He felt like an idiot. He’d have to step around her. He came down the final two rungs, his body now level with hers. They were standing so close in the narrow aisle that the space between them vanished. He could see the faint freckles across the bridge of her nose, the subtle gloss on her lips.
“You’re kinda trapped,” she whispered, a playful glint in her eye. She placed a hand, small and warm, on his chest. It felt like a brand. “Unless you pick me up and move me.”
His brain short-circuited. “What?”
“You’re tall. And strong, right? Lift me up. Set me over there.” She nodded toward a clear spot by the door. Her smile was a challenge. “Unless you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” he blurted, then immediately regretted how desperate it sounded.
Her smile widened. “Then do it.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He slid his hands, large and suddenly clumsy, around her waist. His fingers nearly met. She was so small. He could feel the heat of her through the thin cotton of her shirt, the delicate curve of her ribs. He lifted her easily, her feet leaving the ground.
A soft gasp escaped her, not of alarm, but of surprise at how effortlessly he did it. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders for balance. For a suspended moment, he held her there, aloft in the dusty air, her face now above his. Her eyes were wide, the amusement still there but softened by something else—curiosity, maybe. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum solo she must have felt.
His hands were trembling. He knew they were. He willed them to stop and they disobeyed, transmitting his entire nervous system’s breakdown through his fingertips into her skin.
He took two stiff steps and set her down gently by the door, releasing her waist as if it were electrified. His hands felt empty, cold.
She didn’t step back. She looked up at him, her head tilted. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not,” he lied, his voice a rough whisper.
“You are.” She reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers, turning it over. Her touch was cool and deliberate. She ran a thumb over his palm. “See?”
He couldn’t speak. He could only watch her slender fingers examining his, feeling the callouses from loading trucks against her soft skin.
“It’s sweet,” she said, finally letting go. The loss of contact was a physical ache. She leaned back against the doorframe, studying him. “All that… eagerness. You’d do anything I asked, wouldn’t you, Josh?”
He nodded, a quick, jerky motion. There was no point in denying it. The truth was a physical presence in the room, thicker than the dust.
She pushed off from the frame and moved past him, her shoulder brushing his arm. She picked up his forgotten clipboard and handed it to him, her fingers brushing his again.
“Good to know,” she said, her tone light, conversational, as if she’d just confirmed the weather. “I’ll keep that in mind. Get the rest of the inventory done. I’ll be at my desk.”
She walked out of the stockroom, leaving him standing alone in the buzzing silence. The ghost of her hands was on his waist, on his palm. The air still smelled of coconut.
Josh stared at the empty doorway, the clipboard dangling from his limp fingers. His whole body was vibrating. It wasn’t a no. It wasn’t a yes. It was a promise, hanging in the dusty air between the shelves, more terrifying and exhilarating than anything he’d ever imagined.
He had no idea what she would ask for.
He only knew, with a certainty that shook him more than his own trembling hands, that he would say yes.