I walked into the workroom, nervous as hell, because this was the first time I’d ever sought Lynn out. My heart was in my throat, and my balls were in my pocket. I was ready to give them to her if she wanted them, I was that nervous.

As I opened the door to the workroom, noise rushed at me. The workroom was a spot in the office where Mom and Dad had people come in to teach the people they treated about working with their hands. Mom’s theory was that we should be nurturing our tradesmen, that we should be holding tradesmen in as high esteem as we did doctors and lawyers in our society.

“There’s a certain type of satisfaction that can only be found by working with your hands,” Dad always said after he cut the grass and trimmed the bushes at our house on Saturday mornings.

“Some people like to build wealth. And other people like to build things,” Mom had explained.

Mom jumped up from behind a table when she saw me. Her eyes met mine, and I saw a bit of worry there. I wasn’t sure what it meant, though. “I didn’t know you were coming by,” she said.

Heat crept up my face. I shrugged. “I was hoping I might be able to see Lynn.” I pointed to a whiskey-haired girl sitting over on the other side of the room. All I could see was the back of her head. Her ponytail stood high and tight.

“Oh, that’s not Lynn, sweetheart,” Mom said gently. “That’s Jamie.”

I looked again. “Who’s Jamie?”

“Jamie comes in once a week to teach the kids about machines. This week, she’s helping them put together some robots. Do you want to meet her?”

“Is Lynn here?” I asked, looking around.

Mom frowned. “No. She’s not here today.” She reached for my arm and led me toward the girl in the corner. “You should meet Jamie. She’s fascinating. Jamie,” Mom called out.

Jamie turned around, not looking up from the robot she was building. Finally, she raised her eyes, and I immediately wondered how I could have mistaken her for Lynn. They were as different as night and day. Jamie had a gaze that charged at me. Lynn’s gaze was all soft curves and light. Jamie had none of that.

“Hi,” Jamie said, glancing back down at the machine. She had a smear of grease across her cheek.

“Jamie,” Mom said, calling for her attention, “this is my son, Mason. I want you to meet him.”

She raised a hand briefly in the air. “Hi,” she repeated.

“She’s a little preoccupied,” Mom whispered. “Let’s give her a few minutes.”

I took the time to study Jamie without her knowing. She had on baggy dark-blue jeans, a white tank top that hugged her figure, and she had a blue-and-red flannel shirt tied around her waist. But that wasn’t what stood out to me. What stood out were the scars on her arms and shoulders. From the way they crept up from her fingers to her arms, I imagined they disappeared beneath the shirt too.

I had a sudden and inexplicable desire to pull that shirt to the side so I could see. My face heated again. I forced myself to look down at the canvas sneakers she wore. They were scuffed and dirty, like she worked hard in them every day.

Suddenly, Jamie smiled and looked up. “There,” she said. She started the machine and handed it to a boy beside her. She ruffled his hair and grinned. Then she got up and walked toward me. Sauntered toward me would be a better word. The girl had a sense of presence unlike any I had ever seen on a woman. She was probably close to my age of sixteen, but she looked like she’d seen and done so many things. I don’t know why I had that impression, but it was unmistakable.

“Hi,” she said again, and she extended her dirty hand. At the last instant, she pulled it back. “Sorry,” she said. “I appear to be a little greasy. Machine goop and all that.” She reached for a wet wipe and started to clean her fingers. When she was done, she tossed the wipe in the trash and extended her hand again.

A shocking sense of warmth spread from her palm to mine. “I’m Mason,” I said.

She laughed. “I know. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Has my mom been telling stories again?”

She shook her head. “No, Lynn told me about you.” She let her eyes drag up and down my body, and I squirmed in my jeans. “She wasn’t kidding. You’re something.” She let out a soft whistle.

“So are you,” I replied, and my face heated again.

She blinked her eyes at me, her whiskey-colored lashes falling against her cheeks in slow sweeping movements. “I see why Lynn likes you,” she said.

“She likes me?” I asked without thinking. I wanted to slap my face against my palm and groan, but I held it back. Next, I expected my voice to crack like it did when I was thirteen and just growing hair on my balls.

She nodded slowly, biting her lips together. “She likes you a lot,” she finally said. She jerked a thumb toward the table on the other side of the room. “I need to put together a few more robots. Do you want to help?”

I shrugged my shoulders and followed her. She handed me a set of instructions, and I bent over them as she slid a stack of parts toward me.

“Do you think you can handle me?” she asked.

I think she meant to ask if I could handle the robot, but I really wasn’t sure. I cleared my throat and said, “I think so.”

“I don’t know, big guy,” she said as she turned a chair around backwards and straddled it. “I’m a whole lot to handle.”

I just bet she was. I looked up to find Mom watching us from near the door. She had hitched her shoulder against the doorjamb and was being the worst sort of onlooker. “Everything okay, Mason?” she called out.

I waved at her and turned back to the robot instructions.

“I think she’s afraid I’ll try to dissect you,” Jamie whispered. “Don’t worry. I only do that to machines.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “You’re safe.” Her eyes swept across my face, touching my eyes, my nose, and lingering on my lips. “For now.”