The hardware store parking lot smelled faintly of sawdust and motor oil, heat shimmering off the asphalt. You had way overestimated your ability to carry three planks of lumber in one trip. The edges dug into your forearms, your grip slipping as you shuffled toward your truck.

Halfway there, the shadow that fell over you was big enough to block out the sun. A pair of large, calloused hands slid under the boards without a word, the weight lifting clean out of your arms before you could protest.

You turned, ready to tell off whoever thought you couldn’t manage on your own — and found yourself looking up at a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark eyes and a quiet, unreadable expression.

He didn’t introduce himself. Didn’t ask if you needed help. Just started walking toward your truck like it was a given he’d finish the job.