My mattress made quite an impression. He’s thinking about it right now. His pupils are dialing out. I stab around for some way to toss some cold water on the rising heat in this room.

“Megan must have loved it when you got like this.”

“She’s never stepped foot on one of my sites. Never picked up a crowbar, much less broken a sweat.” His white teeth bite into his bottom lip. “I’ve never been like this. Whatever this is.”

The beast I had imagined as a child and that has followed me around the globe every step I took? The one that would sleep at the foot of my bed and tear out throats? He’s here in this room, but I’m not scared. If I stepped toe-to-toe with him and put my hand up, he would press his cheek into my palm. But now is not the time to explain the concept of Valeska.

“You’ve always been like this. Trust me.”

“Only around you. Never Megan.” His eyes hold steady on mine until whatever internal guilt-pinch he just experienced eases off. “I can see you like hearing that.”

I’ve probably got wolf eyes myself. “Of course I do. I’m a jealous bitch. She never came to visit? Not even once in a dress with a picnic basket?” He shakes his head. “Damn. If you were—” I cut myself off short.

His dark eyebrow arches. “If I were yours, what?”

I huff a disbelieving laugh. He’s getting bold. The way he’s looking at me right now? He’s going to lick me, just to know my taste.

I chicken out. “You don’t want to know what I mean.”

“The problem is,” he says with slow deliberation, “that I do want to know.”

“Use your imagination.” I have nothing. I’m outclassed here, and he knows it. There’s amusement in his eyes and the sharp point of his canine tooth showing as he steps back toward the door.

“I have been. That’s why I’m a goddamn wreck.” He opens the door like that’s going to keep us safe. A tiny bit of tension evaporates out of the room in a pink steam cloud, but it’s not enough. We could still leap on each other and give the guys in the hall a show.

He advances closer again, and with one finger he slides the strap of my tank back onto my shoulder.

In a voice so quiet I almost miss it, he says, “You’re driving me insane with your skin and your sweat.” When he sees me recoil, he clarifies and my stomach bottoms out. “You seriously don’t know you’re sexy, do you?”

“No,” I manage to say. “I mean, I’ve been told—”

His eyes turn nuclear.

“But not by you. Never by you.”

“You’re wrong,” he argues. “I’ve told you in every way I could. Even when I shouldn’t have. Must have been fun for you, being able to tease and mess with me whenever we had thirty seconds alone.”

The eight long Megan years stretch behind us like a desert road. He thinks that was nice or enjoyable for me? Standing on the side of a bonfire, while he sat with Megan perched on his knee? Drinking until the knife point inside me dulled?

“Must have been nice for you, getting engaged and not having to give a shit about me or my skin. Look, I’m going to take the afternoon off.”

I grab the pink tarot tile and duck out from under his arm and blow down the hall, stepping over cords and men’s boots; out into the backyard; and into the studio. Patty’s claws click around on the floor but I’m too dispirited to look at her happy sunflower face.

He’s followed me of course. “I need you to keep working.”

“You don’t need me. I’m a novelty. No one takes me seriously. Every time I pick up a tool, I feel like everyone’s thinking, Aw, so cute! I’m a freakin’ Patty.”

“You know that’s not true. You worked your ass off.”

I put the tarot card on my bench. “I do nothing but stress you out. I’m a liability. You said it yourself. I’m going to do you a favor and clear out for a bit.”

Tom leans on the door frame of my bedroom but he won’t step an inch inside. It’s probably to keep himself safe. “Jamie bet me a hundred bucks you’d quit in the first week, but I said you wouldn’t. Are you going to give this win to him?”

“I’m not quitting, I’m just … leaving.” I gesture up at the house, where an audience is building. “They’re all waiting for the big boss.”

He gives up on me. “Must be nice to just leave when things get hard. Some of us don’t have that luxury.” He walks back to the house, where he’s surrounded by guys, all needing things done, answered, signed, sorted.

I rewind my memory. Cheap drinks. Bar. Enjoy this project. Is that really enough to derail an entire house renovation? I thought I was doing something good, but now shame is burning inside me, hot and sick.

It overrides everything; even the flush of pleasure in knowing I’m affecting him is tainted. It’s not something that he wants. The worst part about all of this? Jamie was right. I’m disrupting Tom so much he can’t do his job or enjoy his new challenge as boss. He’s completely tormented.

I pick up the envelope with my passport application in it. I’ll go mail this, then take my moldy old heart out for some day drinking. Who was I kidding? I’m not physically capable of the labor, or mentally fit to be a boss.

I have five names in my new phone’s contact list: Mom, Dad, Tom, Jamie, Truly. The only five who matter, and at this rate I might lose Tom altogether. My idiot thumb still thinks it is a twin, because it chooses Jamie first. I scroll again and dial Truly. She picks up on the first ring.

“Could you come pick me up? My car is blocked in by about a hundred trucks.” I look in the mirror. I am a hot mess. A gleaming, pink-faced mess, with smudgy eyes. Sexy? Tom’s been marooned on this desert island a little too long.

When Truly speaks, I know she’s got some sewing pins in her mouth. “Sure, I can be there soon. What’s happening?”

“The usual. My heart nearly blew up, I died of malnutrition, I invited the crew out to drinks, and then Tom’s head exploded.” I don’t hide my heart stuff from Truly, because she doesn’t lecture me about it.

I hear the sound of a sewing machine on the other end. “Drinks? Already? Aren’t they there for months?”

“Yes, but I was trying to bring a little fun into this.”

The whirring stops and starts. “You’d be making them all think this whole project is going to be easy and fun, when it’s not. They wouldn’t take it as seriously.”

“I want to create a team vibe.”

“You can probably think of ways for everyone to feel happy to be on this project without plying them with drinks. That’s kind of your default setting.”

“I’m a bartender.” This is not going how I thought it would.

“You don’t need to be on twenty-four/seven bartender mode when you’re not on shift. Just … be yourself for once. The real you. You know what I do when I make a mistake when sewing?”

“You have a complete mental and emotional breakdown. No wait, that’s me.” I sit on the edge of my bed and heave a sigh. “Jamie would love it if I quit.”

“When I make a mistake, I unpick it and I keep on sewing. And hey, Darce? You’re not a bartender. You’re a photographer. I wish you’d believe it again.”