“Thanks, I made them myself.” I glance over my shoulder when I finish the stairs, watching her dainty fingers flutter over the rounded woodwork at the top landing. She doesn’t even look my way as she muses, “Goddamn, you must be good with your hands.” We freeze in time, and I watch pink splotches pop up on her round cheeks as she slowly turns her head in my direction. Fuck, she’s so pretty, I can’t even stand it. Eyes wide and pleading, she adds, “I mean, you must be handy.” “I’m both.”
