River laughs. "That's cold."
"That's what he gets for embarrassing me." I push off the counter, feeling lighter. "Come on. Let's grab lunch from next door, then tackle the social media stuff."
Twenty minutes later,sandwiches consumed, we're back in the break room. River tells me about his parents retiring to Arizona last year, leaving him the family hardware store. About the weight of keeping the Brooks name going while also modernizing everything.
"My dad thought social media was for kids and celebrities," River says, shaking his head. "Refused to even get a Facebook page. Said if people needed hardware, they'd come in."
"And now you're trying to drag a hardware store into the twenty-first century?"
"Something like that." He pulls out his phone. "I've got accounts set up, but no idea what to post. Help me, Bea Wilson. You're my only hope."
I laugh. "Okay, never quote Star Wars at me unless you're prepared for a trilogy debate."
"Noted."
"You need personality. Behind-the-scenes stuff." An idea strikes me. "Actually, we should take some photos now. Show people there's a real person running this place."
River looks uncomfortable. "I'm not really a 'photo' person."
"You don't have to be a model. Just be yourself." I stand. "Though you might want to roll up your sleeves."
"Why?"
"Trust me. Hardware store plus arm porn? That's marketing gold."
His ears go red. "Arm porn?"
"Just trust me." I'm already opening his phone camera, definitely not thinking about earlier when I wanted to trace those muscles with my tongue. "This is pure strategy."
"Uh-huh." But he's smiling as he rolls up his sleeves, revealing forearms that are—objectively speaking—very nice.
I am being professional. Totally professional.
Even if my mouth goes dry.
"Okay, stand by those power tools." I gesture to the display near the front windows. "Look like you know what you're doing."
"I do know what I'm doing."
"Then show it."
I snap photos as he works—organizing lumber, mixing paint, helping an imaginary customer. He's awkward at first but gradually relaxes. Starts joking around.
"This what you wanted?" He's laughing now, flexing dramatically with a hammer.
"Oh yeah, that's perfect. Really sell the 'I lift heavy things' vibe." I'm laughing too, snapping the shot anyway. "The thirst comments will be incredible."
His face goes even redder. "Thirst comments?"
"Welcome to social media marketing, Brooks." I grin. "Now actually swing that hammer. Pretend you're fixing something."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"I'm a professional doing professional work." I circle him with the phone. "Now look competent and hot—I mean, helpful. Competent and helpful."
I move closer to adjust his position, and that's my mistake.
My hand lands on his arm, and?—
