Page 125

I blink at him.
“Sure.” I stick my phone back in my pocket. “Just a few funny TikToks from Lyssie.” Which isn’t a lie when she’s been spamming me since this morning. Wedding fails worse than mine mixed with the usual antics of crazy cats.
“The best friend?”
I nod. “She’s the only best thing in Springfield.”
He hums and I go back to assembling the new box.
It’s quick work since his maintenance crew left some spare wood lying around in the shed and he figured we could use the boards. I definitely don’t mind.
Especially when he looks like this, staring on in silent approval and catching the way I twist while I work.
The man’s eyes are always so hungry it makes me blush.
But I kinda like it.
I finish hammering two more planks together and then let him take over when he pushes past me, signaling me to take a break.
For a rich guy with a real estate empire, he’s insanely good with his hands. And he’s really rocking the lumbersexual vibetoday with a saw and a checkered shirt he’s rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his forearms.
God, I could watch him work all day, his brow glistening with sweat.
A bee zooms around his head, but instead of swiping at it, he slows down and lets it check him out before flying away.
“Nice and calm. You’re learning,” I tell him approvingly. “You’ll be a beemaster yet.”
“Don’t hold your breath. Getting this close without swatting the damn things is about all I’m good for.”
“You’re very good at it.”
Although he doesn’t look at me, a tiny grin quirks his lips.
I smile down at my hammer and the pile of nails in a small plastic container. As soon as this box is finished, I might just jump his bones right here.
But my phone buzzes again with persistent notifications, shattering my temporary peace, and my smile melts.
Okay, don’t panic.
It’s either Lyssie calling to remind me my life could be worse with shark attacks and hot dog eating competitions held at gunpoint and asking me more questions about Archer, or Mom.
Or it could be Holden.
I have a bad feeling when I finally cave and glance at the screen.
This is a mistake,he tells me.Just hear me out?
When can we talk?
Winnie, please.
This is the third message he’s sent ever since Archer practically catapulted him off the property.
The first two messages were angrier, long walls of text chewing me out for having theaudacitynot to welcome him back with open arms, and standing by while a brute assaulted him.
He still doesn’t get he’s half the reason I fled.
The man isn’t the brightest, no matter what his pedigree and fancy degrees say.