The light above the stage caught the polished concrete and threw a dull reflection back into the barn. Elara stood near the bar with a glass in her hand, watching Bryce look up toward the loft.

He had been doing it for long enough that she finally gave in.

“What?”

Bryce glanced at her. “Nothing.”

“You’ve looked up there six times.”

“I was thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He smiled and looked back toward the loft.

“We should do something with it eventually.”

“We will.”

“How are you getting up there?”

Elara stared at him. “Stairs.”

“Boring.”

“It’s a loft, Bryce. Stairs are generally considered useful.”

He walked slowly beneath it, looking at the open space above.

“Could winch you.”

She laughed. “We have a winch.”

“I know.”

“So your grand idea is to use the thing you already built?”

“Different purpose.”

“You want to lift me into the loft like a hay bale.”

Bryce looked at her.

“Like an expensive hay bale.”

Elara snorted into her drink.

“That might be the least romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. Unfortunately.”

She put the glass down and joined him beneath the loft.

“So. You lift me up there. Then what?”

Bryce looked upward again.

“No idea.”

“That’s impressive planning.”

“You asked.”

“You started it.”

He smiled.

Elara leaned against one of the posts. “Hang me from the rafters while you’re at it.”

Bryce turned his head.

She saw the change immediately.

“No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I’m just standing here.”

“With that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where something stupid I said becomes three days in the workshop.”

Bryce laughed.

Elara pointed at him. “Leave it.”

“I am.”

“You’re absolutely not.”

He walked toward the workbench.

“There he goes.”

“I’m getting something.”

“That’s how projects start.”

Bryce opened a drawer and pulled out a coil of rope.

Elara groaned.

“Bryce.”

“What?”

“I was joking.”

“So was I.”

He carried the rope across the barn.

“That stopped being true the second you opened the drawer.”

Bryce unfolded one of the recessed rings from a post and clipped the rope to it.

Elara watched.

“What are you making?”

“Nothing yet.”

“That’s even worse.”

He carried the rope across the bay and pulled it toward another anchor.

Elara followed him.

“You’re not lifting me with that.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Bryce clipped the other end and pulled the line tight between the two posts.

Elara looked at it.

Then at him.

“You made a clothesline.”

Bryce stepped back.

“Basically.”

“You dragged rope across the barn and invented a clothesline.”

“Useful invention.”

“For washing?”

“Could be.”

Elara laughed.

Bryce pushed down on the rope with one hand. It gave slightly and returned.

She stopped laughing.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing it now.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking.”

Elara stepped closer and pressed her own hand against it.

The line was firm enough to carry weight but not rigid.

She pushed harder.

Bryce watched.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

“I wasn’t.”

“Bullshit.”

Elara swung one leg across the rope.

Bryce’s eyebrows rose.

“Shut up.”

“I still haven’t said anything.”

She lowered herself carefully until the rope took some of her weight.

It held.

“There.”

Bryce folded his arms.

“There what?”

“It works.”

“For what?”

Elara shifted forward.

The rope dragged firmly beneath her jeans.

She stopped.

Bryce’s mouth moved.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m allowed.”

She shifted again.

The pressure moved with her.

“Oh.”

Bryce stepped closer.

“That good?”

“I didn’t say good.”

“You said oh.”

“That could mean anything.”

“Do it again.”

Elara looked at him.

Bryce smiled.

She rocked forward deliberately this time.

The rope pressed between her thighs.

“Alright,” she said.

“Alright what?”

“There might be something in this.”

“In my clothesline?”

“Don’t ruin it.”

Bryce put one hand at her waist and steadied her while she experimented with the position.

“It needs to be higher,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because my feet are still doing half the work.”

Bryce looked at the anchors.

Elara caught his shirt before he could move.

“Not now.”

“I was only—”

“No tape measure.”

“I wasn’t getting one.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Bryce laughed.

“Fine.”

She slid off the rope.

He caught her around the waist before she could step away.

“What?”

Elara nodded toward the line between them.

“That started as a joke.”

“It’s still pretty stupid.”

“Maybe.”

She kissed him.

Bryce pulled her closer.

Behind them, the rope stretched quietly between the posts.

They left it there while they finished their drinks.

Or tried to.

Elara kept looking at the rope.

Bryce noticed every time.

Eventually he said, “Want to try it properly?”

She looked at him.

“You’ve been waiting to ask that.”

“Yep.”

Elara put down her glass.

“Higher.”

Bryce smiled.

This time she let him get the tape measure.

They shifted the line enough that she could settle onto it without taking most of her weight through her feet. Bryce tightened it again, then stood back.

Elara tested it with both hands before swinging one leg over.

“Better?”

She shifted.

“Much.”

Bryce came behind her and placed both hands on her hips.

Elara rocked forward.

The rope pressed hard through the denim.

She breathed out.

“Still want your stairs?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“That sounded convincing.”

“The loft still needs stairs.”

“Different argument.”

She reached back and caught his wrist.

“Jeans.”

Bryce unfastened them for her and worked them down far enough to clear the rope.

When Elara settled back onto it, her breath caught.

The braided line was rougher against bare skin than she expected.

Bryce felt her stop.

“Too much?”

“No.”

She shifted carefully.

Then again.

The friction changed immediately.

“Oh.”

“There it is.”

“Shut up.”

Bryce’s hands remained at her hips, steadying her without moving her.

Elara rocked forward.

The rope dragged beneath her and her fingers tightened around Bryce’s wrists.

Again.

A little harder.

“You’re going to make a mess on that,” he said.

“You built drains.”

“I didn’t build them for rope.”

“You didn’t build the rope.”

“Fair.”

Elara laughed, then lost the sound when she moved again.

Bryce felt her body change beneath his hands.

He didn’t push.

He didn’t tell her what to do.

He simply held her while she found the movement she wanted.

When she finally stopped, breathing hard, she leaned back against him.

Bryce kissed the side of her neck.

“Well?”

Elara looked down at the rope.

“It needs something.”

“Higher?”

“No.”

“Tighter?”

“No.”

She ran her fingers along the braid.

“Texture.”

Bryce looked at her hand.

“What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

He picked up the loose end and turned it over.

Elara saw his expression.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“The project.”

Bryce smiled.

She slid off the rope and pulled up her jeans.

“You’re going to spend tomorrow tying knots into things, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Different sizes.”

“Probably.”

“Different spacing.”

Bryce looked at her.

Elara laughed.

“Fuck. I know you too well.”

He began unclipping the rope.

“Leave it.”

Bryce stopped.

Elara touched the line once more.

“Tomorrow.”

He nodded.

“Tomorrow.”

She picked up her glass and started toward the house.

Bryce stayed where he was, looking at the rope.

Elara reached the doors before turning around.

“Bryce.”

He looked at her.

“Come inside.”

“I am.”

“Now.”

He dropped the rope.

Elara smiled.

“Good boy.”

Bryce followed her out.

The rope stayed stretched between the posts behind them.