Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Why not?”
“She thinks I can’t do electrical work.”
He hums. “I’ve not seen you in electrical action, but I’d wager that Cricket is right.”
I gasp. “Rude.”
He chuckles and moseys around the front lawn, stopping at various places to check out the house from different vantage points. I have no idea what he’s doing, but I could watch him move around all day. Even if I am mildly irritated at him for second-guessing my skills.
Finally, he stops traveling and makes his way back to me.
“The project I’m meant to work on this week got called off,” he says, slipping a hand into the front pocket of his jeans.
“Okay . . .”
“Let me come over and help you.”
“Absolutely not.”
He rubs his forehead.
“I told you that we’re self-sufficient over here,” I say, then wince. “I mean, your help has been appreciated. But we aren’t a charity case.”
“No one said you were.”
You implied it, though. I grab a rake off the porch and gather the weeds I pulled earlier.
“You’re sweet to offer,” I say. “But this stuff is fun for me. It’s the only fun I have left, and I don’t want to contaminate my happy place with someone helping me out of pity.”
“It’s not out of pity.”
I stop raking. “Then what is it?”
He holds my gaze as he walks to me. Every step he takes cranks up the temperature between us. He’s controlled and intentional.
He stops inches before me, towering over me by nearly a foot. His cologne fills the space between us with a scent I sniffed out of his flannel before I tossed it in the washer last night. It’s comforting and exudes strength, giving me a spark of excitement.
“Why can’t it be as easy as I have time on my hands and you have work to do?” he asks.
“Because no one wants to work if they don’t have to.”
“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to stand in front of my window and watch you climb the ladder and nearly fall to your death?”
I gasp. “First, I didn’t almost fall to my death. Second, I don’t care what you do. And third, what is it with you standing at your window? It’s a little creepy.”
He rolls his eyes.
He’s more agitated than I expected. And although I don’t understand why he’s hell-bent on helping me, I can’t say I don’t like it or that I don’t want him to. But winding him up—watching the self-contained Jay Stetson start to lose his precious control—is fun.
Besides, he almost kissed me. He has it coming.
“Hey,” I say, swinging my hips more than necessary to pick up my water bottle. “Did you ever think of any of your friends that might be looking for a hookup? They could come over and help me. It’d be a two-for-one. He could work with me and then work me.”
And . . . he delivers.
Jay cuts the distance between us in half. His eyes flare with irritation. His fists clench at his sides. He peers down at me like he wants to rip me in half—and I consider offering an invitation. But he’s already made it clear that’s not happening.
I’m not one to beg.
Although, I think he’s one to lie.
“Does that question bother you?” I ask, fluttering my lashes. “Because it seems like it does.”
Instead of answering me, he starts across the lawn. “What time are we starting tomorrow?”
“What?”
“What time do you want me here in the morning?”
I laugh. “I said I didn’t need your help.”
“I’ll be here at nine,” he says over his shoulder.
His insistence on helping me makes me smile. Sure, I can do all this on my own—or I can try, anyway. But having Jay around is exciting. And if I get to watch him work and get all sweaty for a couple of days, that’s just the cherry on top.
“Fine,” I say. “But you’re my assistant. Remember that.”
He shakes his head and disappears into his house. Even though I don’t quite understand what he’s up to, I smile all the way into mine.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GABRIELLE
You cook just like Grandma,” I say, putting away the last plate. “Dinner was delicious, Cricket.”
Cricket’s kitchen is the opposite of mine. The stove itself probably costs more than every appliance in my kitchen. It’s emerald green with gold knobs that complement the bespoke refrigerator across the room. She has a mixer, chopper, and slicer for every meal-prep step. It’s quite a change from my cupboard’s single can opener and cutting board.
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you to say.” She smiles over her shoulder. “One of my regrets is that I never had the chance to cook with her. I mean, sure, we mixed and stirred. But I never got to stand in the kitchen and create a meal with her.”
“She would be impressed by you.”
My cousin beams.
“What’s for dessert?” Peter comes into the kitchen and hands Cricket his tea glass. “Did you make a sheet cake?”