I let myself have one, just one, tiny groan of pleasure. Hot water might be my love language.
“Don’t,” I said quickly, catching his grin. “Don’t look smug.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Still … the corners of his lips tugged up in that deliciously handsome face.
He was absolutely dreaming of it.
“I appreciate the... help,” I said, because my gran had trained me to use manners. “But you can’t just start fixing thingsaround here.”
He sat back on his heels. “Why not?”
“Because.” I folded my arms over my robe so my annoyance had a shelf to perch on. “Because it’smyjob.”
“And you’re doing three people’s worth of work by yourself.”
“It’s my inn.”
“And it was your gran’s inn,” he said, not unkindly. “And she’d haunt you for letting this place chew you up.”
The words landed like an elbow to the ribs. “Leave my gran out of this.”
“I’m offering help.”
“You’re offering control,” I snapped, surprising both of us. “You always do. You swoop in and decide how the story goes and everyone else is supposed to clap and say thank you.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”
“No? That manager I told you not to trust. Remember him? You put your life in his hands and drove away while I stood on the footpath with a suitcase and a backbone and promised myself I’d survive it. Forgive me if watching you crouch in my cupboard with a spanner feels like déjà vu in a cheaper jacket.”
He flinched. I hated that it made me feel vindicated.
“I’m not trying to rewrite history,” he said evenly. “I’m trying to fix a leak.”
“Beautiful metaphor. Very on brand.”
“Skye.” He put the spanner down and lifted his hands like I might bite him. “You’re tired. Let me take some weight. I can do repairs, I can run out for supplies, and I can even answer the bloody phone. I grew up here too,remember? I know my way around a tool shed. I’m not … helpless.”
“And I’m not helpless either.”
“I never said you were.”
“You didn’t have to.” My voice went sharp. “Every time you ‘help,’ I hear, ‘You can’t handle this.’”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Well, that’s what I hear!”
“Skye. I love … I mean,loved, you.” Noah’s voice caught and my eyes widened. Had he just said what I thought he’d said? “Despite what you may think, you still matter to me. I know I have a lot of sins to atone for, and if sorting your hot-water heater out is a place to start, well, I’d like to. I want to …” His voice trailed off, and what looked like longing filled his eyes.
I had no idea how to respond to that. All reasonable thought left my brain as I stared at his mouth, wanting desperately to feel his kiss. Just once more.
We stared at each other, breath fogging in the cold hall, the boiler purring like a cat that enjoyed drama.
He’ll be gone soon, Skye, and then life will return to normal.My thoughts returned, waving red flags at me.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. One of my American guests, a nice woman in her sixties having a tour of Scotland, called down to me. “Skye, dear, have you got any more of that marmalade? I’m afraid I’ve gone through it all.”
I took a shaky breath. “I have guests. I have rooms to turn over. I have a boiler that, thank you, is no longer plotting my demise. I don’t have bandwidth for … for you in my cupboards and whatever else this is.”
