Page 31 of Working For Her Sweet Treats

He reaches for the interior release and pushes. Nothing happens. He tries again, harder. The latch gives a dull rattle but does not release.

“You never mentioned this needed repairing,” he says.

“I figured it just needed a little grease on it. I’ve been meaning to …”

“Wish you would have told me.”

“Jake, I have not adopted you as a business partner.”

“No, you haven’t. Guess that’s why we’re now cellmates in this walk-in cooler.”

Jake grips the handle and presses his shoulder against the metal. The door refuses to move.

“My tools are outside,” he says.

“This is my fault. I should have taken care of that latch.”

“Loralee will hopefully notice.”

“I doubt it. She’s probably activated her earbuds again. She listens to podcasts about moon phases and all kinds of things.”

He looks toward the ceiling. “The cooler is ventilated, and we’re not in danger.”

“I know, but it’s cold.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m angry.”

“You can be both cold and angry.”

Jake takes off his work shirt, leaving a fitted black T-shirt beneath it, and holds the heavier layer toward me.

“I’m fine.”

“Ava.”

I take it before he can turn my name into an argument. The shirt is warm from his body and smells faintly of wood, and Jake. I slip my arms into the sleeves and refuse to examine why that feels more intimate than it should.

He leans against the shelving across from me. The cooler is not small, but Jake occupies space in a way that makes every room feel narrower.

I fold my arms beneath the borrowed shirt. “The door. The electrical outlets. The shelves. Every time you see a problem, you step in as though I’m incapable of handling it.”

“I don’t think you’re incapable.”

“It feels like you do.”

Jake looks down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “That isn’t what I mean when I help.”

“I know. But my ex didn’t believe he was controlling me, either. He believed he was saving me from bad decisions.”

“I’m not your ex-husband.”

“No. You’re not.”

The answer comes easily because it is true. Jake listens. He does not defend himself or begin listing all the ways he is different. He simply waits.

“I don’t always know how to tell the difference anymore,” I admit. “Between someone supporting me and someone slowly taking over.”