Close Quarters

Brielle woke up the next morning determined to ignore the fact that Jaxon Reed existed.

It lasted exactly four minutes.

Because right as she walked into the kitchen, her mom already sipping tea with her leg propped up greeted her with a too bright smile.

“Good morning, volunteer!”

Brielle groaned. “I am not a volunteer. I am a hostage.”

Her mom ignored that completely. “Jaxon stopped by.”

Brielle dropped the spoon she’d been reaching for. “He WHAT?”

“He brought fresh peaches. Said they were for you.”

“For me?” Brielle’s voice squeaked she hated that it squeaked. “Why would he bring me peaches?”

“Well,” her mom said innocently, “he said you looked like you needed something sweet.”

Brielle grabbed the counter and inhaled sharply.

She was going to kill him.

She was going to kill him slowly.

“Where are the peaches?” she asked.

Her mom nodded toward the fruit bowl.

Brielle walked over, glared at the peaches like they had personally betrayed her, and picked one up. It was perfectly ripe, warm from the morning sun.

Only Jaxon would find a way to be annoying and thoughtful at the same time.

She set the peach down and grabbed a bottle of water instead. “I’m not going. I’m not going to that garden today.”

“Yes, you are,” her mom said, sipping her tea calmly. “You made great progress yesterday.”

“I worked for five hours!”

“And you’ll do it again today.”

“You don’t even like vegetables.”

Her mom shrugged. “But I like seeing you outside, which is almost the same.”

Brielle pulled her hair into a messy bun, grabbed her keys, and muttered, “If I come back arrested, it’s Jaxon’s fault.”

The sun was warm, the air smelled like cut grass, and the entire walk to the community garden Brielle repeated one mantra:

Ignore him. Ignore the smile. Ignore the stupid shoulders. Don’t let him get in your head.

She pushed open the garden gate and froze.

Jaxon was already there, shirt off, hauling a bag of soil over his shoulder like some kind of small-town lumberjack model.

“Oh, come on,” she whispered to herself.

He turned at the sound of the gate and grinned. “Morning, Brie.”

“I swear you do this on purpose,” she said before she could stop herself.

He looked down at his bare chest as though just remembering he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Heat wave. Or do you want me to put the shirt back on?”

No.

Yes.

Maybe.

Absolutely not.

“I don’t care what you do,” she lied, looking determinedly at a wheelbarrow instead of his abs. “Why are you here so early?”

“Why are you?”

“Because you bribed my mother with peaches.”

He laughed warm, low, and annoyingly attractive. “Your mom asked about you.”

“Of course she did. She loves you.”

“Does that bother you?” he teased.

“Everything about you bothers me.”

“That’s fair.”

He walked past her, close enough that the heat of his skin brushed against her arm. She pretended not to notice. He very clearly noticed.

“You ready for Day Two?” he asked.

“No.”

“Great,” he said. “Let’s get started.”

Jaxon handed her a pair of pruning shears and pointed to a patch of overgrown bushes along the fence. “Trim those back. Just don’t cut the hydrangeas.”

She eyed the plants. “Which ones are the hydrangeas?”

“The ones that look like hydrangeas.”

“Helpful,” she muttered.

After a few minutes of trimming plants that looked suspiciously similar, Brielle heard Jaxon behind her, chuckling under his breath.

She turned slowly. “What.”

He was leaning on his shovel, squinting at the plant in her hands. “You just trimmed what might’ve been a very expensive shrub.”

“Might’ve?”

He nodded. “Could be a weed. Could be Mrs. Walton’s prize azalea.”

Brielle dropped the shears. “You should lead with that information!”

He laughed again deep and genuine. “Relax. It’s a weed.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I planted the azalea myself.”

She blinked. “You garden?”

He shrugged. “I do a lot of things people don’t know about.”

Her stomach dipped.

She hated how curiosity tugged at her.

She hated that he was acting different, Softer. Like he wasn’t trying to win anything.

Jaxon walked closer, kneeling beside the bush she’d been hacking at. “Here,” he said gently. “Let me show you.”

He placed his hand just over hers to guide the shears.

Her breath caught.

His hand was rough, warm, steady.

Her pulse jumped so hard she was sure he could hear it.

He noticed.

She knew he noticed.

His eyes lifted, meeting hers slowly, intentionally.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

A breeze shifted her hair.

His fingers brushed her knuckles.

Her cheeks warmed.

She pulled her hand back quickly. “I can do it myself.”

“I know.” His voice was softer now. “Just trying to help.”

She trimmed the next branch with unnecessary force.

“Careful,” Jaxon said behind her. “You’re going to decapitate the fence.”

“Maybe the fence deserves it.”

“We’ll add fencing trauma to your therapy bill.”

She turned and threw him a glare, but he only smiled like he enjoyed every second of annoying her.

By midday, they were both sweaty, dirty, and surrounded by piles of weeds and half-finished garden beds.

Jaxon wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Want a break?”

“No.”

“You look like you need a break.”

“No.”

“You’re sweating.”

“That’s your fault.”

“How is that my fault?

“You stress me out,” she snapped.

He blinked… then burst out laughing.

She turned and walked toward the tool shed.

“Brie!” he called. “Come on, we’re adults. We can work together without wanting to kill each other.”

“I never said I wanted to kill you,” she said without turning around.

“What do you want, then?”

The question froze her.

She didn’t know the answer.

She didn’t want to think about the answer.

She opened the shed door, stepped inside, and

The wind slammed the door shut behind her.

Pitch black.

“Great,” she whispered. “Perfect.”

She tried the handle. It was jammed.

She jiggled it.

Nothing.

“Are you kidding me?”

Outside, she heard footsteps.

Then Jaxon’s voice. “Brie?”

She banged on the door. “The shed locked!”

A beat.

Then she heard him trying the handle. “It’s stuck. Hold on, I’ll”...

Before he could finish, he yanked too hard.

The door didn’t open.

But he fell inside.

Directly into her.

They crashed into the corner, his arms bracing around her to keep her from hitting the wall. Her hands ended up flat against his bare chest warm, solid muscle under her palms.

Her breath caught.

His did too.

The shed was small.

Dark.

Quiet.

Too warm.

She could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

He could feel the tremble in her hands.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice low, breath brushing her cheek.

“It’s fine,” she whispered, though nothing felt fine. “Just move.”

“I can’t.”

She swallowed. “Why not?”

His voice dropped even lower. “Because if I move right now, I’m going to do something you’re not ready for.”

Her pulse thundered.

“What does that mean?” she said softly.

He exhaled, slow and warm. “It means this is too close. And you know it.”

Silence stretched.

Thick.

Heavy.

Charged.

She didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Then mercifully Jaxon shifted back, his breath unsteady. “Let me get the door.”

In one hard shove, the door popped open, flooding the shed with sunlight and cool air.

He stepped out first, running a hand through his hair.

She followed, avoiding his eyes.

“Um,” he said awkwardly, “I’ll… fix that lock later.”

“Good,” she said, her voice much softer than intended.

They stood there for a moment neither speaking, both pretending nothing had just happened.

But it had happened.

And they both felt it.

Deeply.

Jaxon cleared his throat. “We should get back to work.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

But as they walked back to the garden beds side by side, shoulders almost touching Brielle knew one thing with absolute certainty:

She wasn’t just annoyed with Jaxon anymore.

And that terrified her more than anything.