Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Rose

"Wow." The word escapes me on a surprised breath before my brain has the chance to catch up to my mouth. Phillip chuckles, the sound warm and rich like the first hot chocolate of autumn.

"Not what you were expecting, huh?"

"No, it…" How do I tell him I'd been expecting something kind of dark and dingy, the exact opposite of this, without sounding rude?

"It's fine." He leans against the doorframe that connects the workshop to his dining area, watching my shock as I take in the space. "Most people imagine something cold, grey, and cramped when I tell them I have a workshop in my garage."

"Well, I stand corrected. This place is great."

Phillip has taken advantage of being the last house on this side of the street by adding an extension to the side of the garage, making it double the usual size. The doors have square windows along the top half and each side of the space is illuminated by a carefully positioned skylight, resulting in a surprising amount of natural light.

"Thank you." Phillip joins me in the centre of the room. "I spend most of my time out here so I wanted to create a space that's pleasant to be in."

The ivory-white walls house pine shelves and work surfaces in the back third of the room. Tools are mounted on the end wall and there are even drawers for smaller items to prevent clutter. The simple poured concrete floor is the only thing my imagination got right, and that just makes sense for a workshop. The space is neat and oddly inviting, much like what I've seen of the rest of his house.

"You definitely managed that, it's not even that cold in here either," I marvel. The lack of chill to the air is impressive given the outside temperature. Autumn has well and truly arrived in Riverbend and I'd pictured myself needing to stay in my coat while working out here, but the room is actually pretty cosy.

"I made sure the space had decent insulation when I put in the extension. Didn't fancy freezing out here in the winter."

"Smart man." He grins at the compliment and I roll my eyes. "Come on, show me those plans you drew up."

Phillip grabs a large roll of paper and spreads it out across one of the built-in workbenches. I cross the room to join him, standing just to his left so I can get a better look, and see he's drawn up detailed plans with exact measurements. This close, I can feel the heat radiating from his body. The inexplicable urge to lean into his warmth almost gets the best of me and I shake it off. We're here to work.

Refocusing on the plans before me, I listen intently as Phillip explains the minor changes he's made. He points, showing me how the wheels will be affixed, and the left side of the paper starts to roll back in on itself. I reach out to hold it back down at the same time Phillip does, our hands connecting on top of the paper.

Turning my head to look at him, my apology dies on my tongue when the move brings our faces mere inches apart. Phillip's cornflower-blue gaze meets mine over his left shoulder and my breath catches. He smells earthy with a hint of freshness, like pine and mint. Fighting the need to find a candle with that exact combination, I force myself not to inhale another greedy gulp of his scent. The heat from his large calloused palm covering mine is oddly comforting but the way the back of his flannel-clad arm brushes up against my breasts is anything but. Even though layers of clothing separate us, the accidental contact has me suppressing a shiver despite suddenly feeling rather warm.

"Um…" I glance down at where our bodies meet and Phillip's eyes go comically wide.

"Oh!" He practically leaps away from me and I nearly lose hold of the paper in my surprise, slapping my hand down on it with a little too much force before it curls up again. "Sorry, I didn't… I mean I wasn't?—"

"It's fine." Desperate to move on, I clear my dry throat then continue, "Let's finish this so we can get started."

Phillip returns to my side, a crimson blush still staining his cheeks. It's kind of endearing. He's careful to leave enough room between us that even a Regency era chaperone would approve, while he finishes talking me through the plans.

After a couple of minor tweaks to the measurements, we're ready to get started and I walk over to where I left my coat and bag.

"Are you cold? I can plug in the heater," Phillip offers, noticing me tugging on my compression gloves.

"No, thanks though. These aren't for the cold, they're compression gloves," I explain lifting my hands so he can see. The stretchy material hugs my wrists and hands, my fingertips peeking out the open ends. "They help stop my hands getting too sore when I'm doing something that requires dexterity like drawing."

"That's pretty cool. I've not heard of them before." He tilts his head assessing. "They look a bit like the ankle support my friend Blake had to wear for a while when he twisted his ankle on a run."

"It's a similar idea."

"What are the little dots for?" He winces. "Sorry, was that rude to ask?"

"I don't mind since I know you, sort of." Unlike some of the rude and invasive questions I've been on the receiving end of from strangers, Phillip's curiosity doesn't bother me. Probably because his question comes from a place of wanting to learn instead of a place of judgement. I move closer to give him a better look. "This pair is technically for exercise, the rubber dots on my palms are to help stop my grip slipping. You can get compression gloves without them but I prefer these ones for when I'm working." My grip strength isn't always that great and the rubber helps stop my paintbrushes and pencils from sliding against the fabric.

"Ok. Let me know if there's anything I can do to make you more comfortable. I can still put the heater on if that will help, I know the cold can aggravate sore joints."

"Thanks, I'm good for now." I shift my feet, suddenly uncomfortable with his attention. I'm oscillating between happiness over his considerate offer and frustration that he thinks I need help. Before I can settle on one feeling over the other he moves on.

"Alright then." He walks to the side of the room where two of the panels lean against the wall. A quick glance tells me the others are propped up against the opposite wall. "I thought you could work over here and outline the two left sections and I'll do the two for the right side. That way we're both doing one large and one small." Relieved the conversation has shifted back to work, I quickly agree.

I'm not ashamed of wearing the gloves. Why wouldn't I use something that makes me more comfortable? Unfortunately, not everyone sees it that way. Malcolm was especially rude about me wearing them when we were together, one of the many reasons I eventually left him—the man is an arsehole. If Phillip asks why I need the extra support I won't lie, but it's not a conversation I enjoy having—nor is it information I share with everyone since it's my private business.

Maybe giving him a heads-up in case I have a flare-up while we're working together is a good idea. Not that partnering on a project gives him a right to the information, but I will need to pace myself and it might be easier for him to understand that if he knows why. But Phillip and I have been getting along so well, I don't want him to turn out to be an ableist arse like Malcolm or wilfully ignorant like my parents. It would ruin everything. Not to mention we've barely started working together and I do not have the patience to deal with either of those outcomes for the next few weeks. I'll play it by ear for now.

Phillip points out where I can find a tape measure and pencils then crosses to his side of the room.

"You mind if I put some music on?" His hand hovers over a wireless speaker on the worksurface that stretches along the back wall.

"Go for it." He connects his phone to the speaker and classic rock fills the room. We work in companionable silence, bar the background music. I chuckle softly when Phillip is unable to resist singing along to a couple of the songs after a while. He's a man of many talents but singing is not one of them. That doesn't faze him though. He's so comfortable in himself. I simultaneously admire and envy him for that. Phillip's off-key baritone is oddly comforting and after a while I catch myself quietly humming along with him.