Everett’s pissed off when he realizes, catching me on the third day in Harry’s barn with a roll of bandages and a bowl of salt water.

“Let me see,” he demands, marching inside. I’m at the kitchen table, building up my courage to plunge my hands in the stinging water. I poke my tongue out at him, curling my fingers into fists.

“Josie,” Everett growls.

Oof. I must be redder than a traffic light when Harry’s uncle pulls out the chair opposite me, gesturing for me to show my hands. He’s just so big and so broad, and there’s a fine layer of sawdust on his navy flannel shirt.

“Josie. Show me.”

I could never really refuse this man. Don’t know why I’m pretending otherwise. But he’s gonna lose his shit, so I squint one eye shut and brace myself as I flip my hands over and show him my palms.

Everett’s throat bobs beneath his beard. He stares at the raw, broken skin of my palms, rubbed clean off by that shovel handle, and his chest shudders as he draws a deep breath.

And I’m ready for a lecture, ready for recrimination, but Everett is so gentle when he reaches across the table and takes my hands in his own.

He’s careful, avoiding the blisters. Cradling the tops of my hands, with only the pads of his big thumbs against the unhurt centers of my palms.

“Ready?” He lifts us over the big bowl of salt water. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and nod. “Alright. Deep breath.”

It’s a shock of cold, and then it stings.

“Ow,” I say, eyes burning. My fingers curl under the water, holding tight to his thumbs. “Ow, ow, ow.”

“You’re okay.” I’m a baby is what I am, but Everett’s not looking at me like I’m pathetic. He looks so sorry—like he thinks he’s to blame. “It hurts now, but they’ll heal up fast. I promise.”

I nod, and focus on breathing slowly. Already, the sting has started to fade.

“You know, this isn’t what I wanted when I asked you to dig that patch.”

I give a watery snort. “No shit.”

Everett falls quiet, frowning at the bowl between us. There are flecks of sawdust in his dark hair. And I hadn’t noticed before, but there are more lines at the corner of his eyes than before. He looks older.

Still delicious, but older too.

“I’m gonna finish it,” he says, and I open my mouth to argue but he presses my palms gently with his thumbs. “It’s not a debate, Josie. You’re done digging for now.”

“But—”

“No,” Everett says, and I tug my hands back, out of his grip. Salt water sloshes over the rim of the bowl and pools on the table.

“But I’m close,” I say, so frustrated that my teeth ache. “I’m nearly done, and if you’d just wait a few days for my hands to heal—”

Everett scrubs a wet hand over his face, scowling at the wall. “You’re being unreasonable.”