We’d gotten in late after enjoying a UMass game from nosebleed seats. Then she and I had talked in front of the fireplace until nearlydawn, making short work of the apple pie. The perfect end to a very good night. UMass had won.
I’d even impressed her with my fire-building skills and pantry full of baked goods.
“This is the life,” Cecily said, digging into our robust spread of fresh veggies, chunked cheeses, and fruits. “No wonder you aren’t in a hurry to come back to Willow Bend. I love it here.”
I bit my lip, contemplating my next words. The idea of staying in Amherst had taken up space in my head, and I wanted her opinion on the possibility. Was moving here permanently a legitimate option? Or was the coward in me simply plotting a longer escape? Cecily had a way of seeing things I missed, and I needed her insight. “I really do like it here,” I hedged, not sure I was ready for the hard truth.
“Who could blame you. This place is rife with history. The people are fun. The town is quaint. The house is gorgeous. And the views are—”
Davis appeared at the corner of the manor, as if on cue, already sweaty from hauling baseboards and wooden trim, and heading in our direction.
It seemed out of his way to pass by the patio, but I didn’t comment. And I refused to acknowledge the way his T-shirt clung to his torso and biceps.
Cecily was sure to do that for me.
“Ladies,” he said, nodding as he passed.
Cecily gaped, and he fought a grin.
“Stop that,” I hissed when he was gone.
“Tell me that was Handsome Handyman.”
“No. That was Davis.”
She whistled softly, attention fixed in the direction he’d disappeared. “Nice.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved her shoulder. “Stop. We’re friends, and I’m here to work on myself.”
She watched me closely, probably fighting the urge to make a joke about working on him instead. “It’s no wonder you fell for him,” she said, more contemplatively. “He’s unfairly attractive. If he’s half as kind and bookish as you claimed, you never stood a chance.”
“He’s also focused on his career, and I’m working on me.”
Davis reappeared, carrying a pair of folded sawhorses. “Emma,” he said, a little too gravelly. “Would it bother you if I worked out here? It’s a beautiful day. I’d hate to spend it indoors if I don’t have to.”
“Knock yourself out,” I said, feigning cool and making a little cheese-and-cracker sandwich. I considered introducing him to Cecily but didn’t want to start a conversation that might derail my efforts to let him go.
He nodded, then carried on.
Cecily crunched a carrot. “Do you think he’ll take off his shirt?”
I pointed at her in warning.
The clatter of wood jerked my eyes back to Davis. He’d set up the sawhorses and arranged several lengths of baseboard over the supports. He pulled a set of leather gloves from his back pocket, slid his hands inside, and widened his stance.
Cecily hummed.
He palmed a block of sandpaper and began making slow strokes over the wood.
“Holy f—”
I spun to glare at Cecily. “Do not.”
She shoved a chunk of cheese between her lips and chewed. “Fine. What’s the scoop on this Paul guy?” she asked. “When do I get to meet him?”
The rhythmic scratch of sandpaper on wood stuttered, then stalled for a moment before beginning again.
Cecily grinned.
