12. Levi

CHAPTER 12

Levi

The way Aiden looked at me—wide-eyed, cheeks flushing—told me we’d both noticed something shift.

“Sorry,” I murmured, my voice low.

Aiden didn’t move. He stared down at his half-eaten breakfast, his fingers gripping his fork like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment. Then he rested it gently on the plate.

I braced myself. This was it. The polite, awkward conversation about how I’d crossed a line. How he wasn’t into guys, and I needed to keep my wandering eyes and inappropriate thoughts in check.

But that wasn’t what happened.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” His words hit me square in the chest.

A rush of air left my lungs, and my jaw nearly dropped. “You mean…”

“The thing. Between us.” Aiden’s hands fluttered for emphasis, his gaze flickering to mine. “It’s there. I’m not imagining it.”

I sat back, caught between relief and disbelief. “No, you’re not imagining it.”

His lips pressed into a tight line, and he leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “Okay, good. So we’re clear. But just because it’s there doesn’t mean we can do anything about it. Living and working together? That’s already complicated enough without adding… whatever this would be.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in my chest. “You’re right. We’d be asking for trouble.”

But as I said it, my mind betrayed me. It spun up flashes of a world where we didn’t have to hold back—where I could spoil him, look after him, let him lean on me the way he clearly hadn’t been able to lean on anyone in years. Aiden was all sharp edges and quiet strength, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to soften those edges, to take some of that weight off his shoulders.

“You’re trusting me with a paintbrush?” Aiden looked at me skeptically.

I grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you. Can’t have you turning the walls into graffiti.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “No promises.”

After the awkwardness of breakfast, we made our way to the next chalet in the row to start painting. We spent a few minutes prepping, carefully laying down drop cloths to protect the floor and taping off the edges of the walls and trim. The smell of primer still lingered in the air, a reminder of the work already done. Aiden had shown me a few different Pinterest boards with color schemes, and after some back and forth, we had settled on a soft, muted sage green for the walls with off-white trim to give the space a warm, cozy feel. The rich, earthy tones of the paint would slowly transform the bare, primed walls into something inviting. Aiden was quieter than usual, his focus locked on the task, but the silence between us wasn’t strained—just heavy with unspoken things neither of us dared to address

“Can you hand me the brush?” he asked, holding out a hand without looking at me.

I grabbed it from the bucket and handed it to him, our fingers brushing. He stilled for a fraction of a second, like the touch startled him, before he tightened his grip on the handle and returned to the wall in front of him.

“You’re getting the hang of this,” I said, keeping my tone light even as my gaze lingered on the careful way he applied the paint.

“I think I missed a spot.”

“Let me see.” I leaned in closer, our shoulders almost touching as I glanced at the area Aiden had painted. The scent of his cologne—clean, with a hint of something woodsy—drifted in the small space between us, and my throat tightened.

I ran my finger along the edge of the painted area. “It’s just a bit light here. You need to load the brush up more before you go over it again.”

“I thought I did.” He frowned, his lips pressing into a tight line, and started to reload the brush.

“Here.” I took the brush from him, stepping closer to demonstrate. “You need to do long, even strokes, like this.” I painted a few strokes on the wall in front of him, guiding the brush with slow, deliberate movements.

Aiden shifted closer to watch, his knee brushing mine. My pulse kicked up, but I focused on the task, carefully smoothing the paint across the wall.

“Got it,” I said, stepping back to let him take over.

He hesitated. “Show me again?”

I paused, my gaze catching his. The tension between us crackled, like the cold air outside had seeped into the room and turned electric. Slowly, I handed him the brush, our fingers colliding again.

“Here,” I said, moving behind him this time. “Just like this.” I stood close, guiding his hand like I had before, my chest brushing his back.

He froze, his breath catching, but he didn’t pull away. My hands lingered on his a moment longer than necessary, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the whole chalet held its breath.

“See?” My voice came out rough, and I stepped back quickly, retreating to safer ground before I did something stupid.

Aiden exhaled sharply and nodded, but the tension didn’t leave his body. He painted over the spot, the sound of the brush against the wall breaking the heavy quiet between us. “Like that?”

“Exactly.” I cleared my throat, gripping the edge of the counter for balance. “You’re a natural.”

His lips curved, just slightly, but he didn’t look at me. “Thanks.”

We worked in silence after that, taking turns with the brush and the roller. I was hyper-aware of every accidental touch, every stolen glance.

We spent the next couple of hours alternating between quiet focus and moments of hesitant conversation, the rhythm of our work broken only by the occasional sound of the brush against the wall.

By late morning when we paused to stretch, my shoulders ached, but it wasn’t from the work—it was from the effort of holding myself in check. The thermos of coffee I’d brought sat between us, its warmth cutting through the chill in the chalet. I poured each of us a cup. Aiden took his and stared out the large window, watching the gray sky outside.

“We make a good team,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood as I sipped from my own cup.

He glanced at me, his lips curving faintly. “Yeah, we do. It’s nice.”

I looked over at him, watching as he ran his thumb along the rim of his cup. “What is?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at the chalet. “Working with you.” His voice dropped even further, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his coffee.

I offered a small smile. “You’re not so bad to work with yourself.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t go soft on me now.”

I chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “Soft? Me? Not a chance.”

Aiden smirked, the faint curve of his lips making my chest feel lighter. “Alright, tough guy. So what’s next on the list?”

“Installing the floorboards,” I said, setting my cup down.

By late afternoon, we were nearly done. Aiden was carefully painting the lower edges of the wall, touching up spots where the paint hadn’t covered as evenly as he liked. His brow furrowed in concentration, his movements precise and slow as he focused on the task. I stayed nearby, pretending to be busy, but mostly just watching him.

When he reached for the can of paint, his foot slipped on the tarp we’d spread over the floor.

“Whoa—careful.” I caught him by the waist, pulling him upright.

He turned to me, his hands clutching my forearms for balance. For a moment, neither of us moved.

“Thanks,” he said softly, his breath warm against my skin.

“Anytime,” I murmured. My hands stayed on his waist longer than they should have.

His eyes flicked to my lips, and my heart stuttered.

I should have stepped back. I should have said something to break the moment. But I didn’t.

He leaned in, just slightly, and I felt myself doing the same. The world narrowed to just him—his wide eyes, his parted lips, the faint scent of paint and coffee clinging to him.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “This can’t happen.”

“I know.” Two words that sounded like a lie.

The space between us crackled with unspoken words, with a tension neither of us seemed able to escape. I could feel the heat of his body against mine, the almost unbearable pull of the moment. His breath mingled with mine, and for a fleeting second, it felt like everything else had fallen away—just the two of us, in this unfinished room, with everything between us laid bare.

He pulled back first, his cheeks glowing pink. “This was a bad idea.”

His words hung in the air, and it was clear what he meant. The moment had felt too charged, too intense, like crossing a line neither of us had planned on crossing. We were both in dangerous territory—no longer just two people painting a room but something more complicated, something that made the silence between us heavy.

“Yeah.” I stepped back quickly, stuffing my hands in my pockets to keep them from reaching for him again. “Bad idea.” I turned toward the door, hesitating with one hand on the frame. “I meant it, though. I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” he said quietly, his gaze softening. “That’s the problem.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and walked out before either of us did something we couldn’t take back.