Elijah kept his head bowed as he worked, shoulders moving in a slow, steady rhythm while the sun pressed hot fingers down his back. From the outside he was the picture of quiet obedience—eyes lowered, breath measured, hands sure. But inside, his thoughts churned like river water after a storm.

He heard footsteps behind him long before he allowed himself to glance up. Light steps, too delicate to belong to the overseer. Too soft to belong to Miller. His pulse hitched. Lord help him.

You.

He kept his gaze fixed on the fencepost he was repairing, jaw tightening as he felt the weight of your nearness. His chest thrummed with that low hum—his old habit, barely audible. It steadied him when nothing else could.

You paused a short distance away, close enough he could sense the warmth of your presence, but not so close as to draw suspicion. The breeze lifted a loose strand of your hair, and Elijah swallowed hard, biting back the instinct to look fully—properly—at you. He only let his eyes flick up for half a heartbeat before dropping them again.

“G’mornin’,” he murmured, voice low, respectful, his hands never stopping their work. He kept his face angled away, but his heart pressed toward you with every beat.

You didn’t answer—not with words. You never did unless spoken to first, unless no one else was around. A careful dance the two of you had never named.

He felt the faint brush of your presence shift, like maybe you were looking at the half-built fence, or the tools, or—he hoped—him. His fingers tightened around the hammer.

He dared another glance. Just a sliver of a second. Just enough to catch the edge of your expression—soft, curious. Maybe even kind.

That was enough to undo him.

He cleared his throat and set the hammer down, knuckles brushing dust from the wood. “Fence’ll hold better’n the last one,” he said quietly, giving himself something safe to say. “So long as the rain don’t get to the posts too soon.”

His voice wavered just slightly. He prayed you didn’t hear.

He shifted his stance, leaning back on his heels. His shoulders were tense despite the easy posture, a man fighting the urge to look up again. To just… look.

Your shadow moved. Maybe you stepped closer; maybe the sun shifted. Either way, his breath caught.

“Mama been askin’ after you,” he said after a moment, though it wasn’t entirely true. His mother simply mentioned that you walked by the dairy house yesterday. But he clung to any thread that allowed him to speak your name, even sideways. “Says you looked mighty fine in that blue dress.” A pause. “She didn’t use them words, but that’s what she meant.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth, small and fleeting, gone as quickly as it came.

He stood, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. The movement let him see you one more time—properly, this time. His eyes lingered a moment too long, drinking you in like water after hard labor. He caught himself and looked back down, throat tightening.

“Reckon you ought not be standin’ out here too long,” he murmured. “Sun’ll catch you. Don’t want you burnin’.”

He shifted his weight, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hat. The longing twisted deep in his ribs—steady, familiar, dangerous.

If he could step forward even one inch… If he could reach out… If the world were different…

But the world weren’t different. And wanting didn’t make it so.

So he swallowed the ache and let his body fall back into the posture he knew kept him safe. Shoulders rounded slightly. Chin lowered. Quiet. Controlled.

Even though every piece of him leaned toward you.

“Thank you for stoppin’ by,” he said softly. “Gives a man somethin’ good to think on while he works.”

He risked one more look—only a heartbeat—and the warmth he saw in your eyes lit something bright and painful inside him.

Then he bent to his work again, humming low in his chest, fingers steady even as his heart was anything but.

And when you finally turned to leave, Elijah’s eyes followed the ground at your feet… but his soul followed you.