Hayes pretends not to notice.
Or maybe he really doesn’t. His focus has a way of narrowing to just me, even in a whole room full of noise.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asks, voice pitched low, just for me.
A blush crawls up my neck. “Some,” I lie.
He scans my face and I know he doesn’t buy it. “Try again.”
“Fine,” I huff. “A little. Maybe. Like an hour.”
Evie snorts loud enough to rattle the windows. “She paced the hallway twice, then stood in the bathroom mirror practicing her ‘I’m totally fine’ face. I should have known she was hiding something.”
“Evie!”
She holds up a spatula. “Just reporting the facts.”
Hayes’ mouth curves into a barely there smile. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says quietly.
Which is a problem, because pretending is the only thing keeping me held together by more than a thread.
I don’t get time to answer, though, because the back door opens again and heavy footsteps approach. Rhett Jennings—one of Hayes’ best friends, local handyman and hardware store owner—appears carrying a toolbox the size of a small horse.
“Morning, ladies,” Rhett calls out. “Heard we’ve got ourselves a little electrical monster to slay.”
Evie exhales a sound somewhere between awe and agony. “Oh great. More men who fix things. My heart can’t take it.”
Rhett looks at her like she’s an exotic bird that may or may not bite. “Uh… thanks?”
Hayes shakes his head. “Ignore her.”
“Ignore me?” Evie gasps. “I am the victim here!”
“No one here is a victim,” I say.
“I WAS,” she insists. “I walked into a half-burned kitchen! Do you know how traumatic that is? Especially before coffee?”
Hayes holds up a cup, offering it to Rhett. “Speaking of…”
Rhett takes the coffee and leans a little closer to me. “Is she always like this?”
“Only when she’s awake,” I whisper.
“I HEARD THAT,” Evie calls.
Hayes chuckles and my heart beats in overtime. I shouldn’t like hearing him laugh this much. I shouldn’t crave it like warmth on a cold morning.
He directs Rhett to the damaged outlet. The stretch of his jacket pulls across his shoulders, and I immediately redirect my eyes because I am a grown woman, not a teenager with a crush on the firefighter next door.
“How bad is it?” I ask, hovering behind them.
Rhett glances over his shoulder. “Not the worst thing I’ve seen. Outlet’s fried, wiring’s old.”
“But we’ll replace the whole run,” Hayes adds.
“We?” I echo.
“Mm-hm.” His gaze flicks to Rhett, then back to me. “I told you—we’ve got it handled.”
