I melt. Right to the damn floor.
The next night, he brings a toolbox.
“I don’t need anything fixed,” I say as he walks in.
“Your cabinet hinge is loose.”
“How do you know that?”
“You don’t shut it right.”
“That’s just how it is.”
“No,” he says simply, “it’s not.”
He pulls the hinge apart, tightens something with rough, capable hands, and closes it.
Click.Perfect.
I cross my arms. “You can’t just go around fixing things in my house like you own it.”
He looks up at me, eyes steady. “If this engagement’s gonna look real, I need to be here.”
My heart thuds. Loud. Annoying.
“You could just tell people we see each other sometimes.”
“No,” he says calmly. “They’d never believe it.”
“Why not?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “I don’t see you sometimes.”
I go hot all over.
“Junie wants you,” he says suddenly, breaking the tension before I combust. “She’s got another macaroni project.”
“Oh God.”
“Brace yourself.”
I don’t get the chance. Junie drags him down the hall like she’s recruiting him for a covert mission. And he follows. Again. Like it’s becoming routine.
The following night, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that Saxon Cole is the kind of man who decides something needs doing—and then just… does it.
And apparently, what needs doing is spending evenings at my house.
Tonight he’s in a charcoal hoodie pulled tight around his shoulders, and it should not be legal for a sweatshirt to look that good on a man.
He holds a grocery bag up in a silent greeting. “You got food?”
“Yes.”
“Edible food?”
“I can cook.”
“Uh-huh.”
