“Fuck’s sake!”
I’m working on the wall closest to the kitchenette. I look over and spot her scowling at her laptop screen.
“Everything all right?”
“Just a supplier being a pain in the arse.” She grabs her phone. “Give me a sec.”
I keep my eyes on the wall as I continue to work, but it’s impossible not to overhear the call, at least her half of it.
“Hi, yes, this is Ainsley Reid from the Lily Room... Right, about that delivery date we agreed... No, that’s not what we discussed...”
A pause, then—her voice as sharp as cut glass—“I’m not your ‘darling’. Now, about the delivery. We agreed on the eighteenth. I have it in writing... Yes, I’m sure you’re very busy, but so am I, and I need that stock in for my opening...”
Something tightens low in my gut—anger at whoever’s on the other end not taking her seriously. But Christ, the way she handles him, not raising her voice but not backing down either. It’s impressive. Pretty damn hot too.
“I’ll expect confirmation by email within the hour,” she finishes, and sets the phone down.
“You handled that well,” I comment.
She glances at me, and I catch a flicker of something—embarrassment, maybe, that I heard the whole thing. But she schools her expression fast and, without further comment, packs up her laptop. “I need to go collect Lily now.” She pulls a key from her pocket. “Here. A spare, so you can lock up when you’re done.”
I take it then she strides for the door. My gaze drops, unhelpfully, to the sway of her hips, the way those jeans hug her curves, before I drag my eyes back up.
Christ, Walker. Get a grip.
The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with mellow seventies rock drifting from the speaker and the faint trace of Ainsley’s perfume hanging in the air.
I scrub a hand through my hair, probably spreading sawdust everywhere.
She’s my neighbour. My temporary boss. And clearly not interested in anything beyond professional distance. I shouldnotbe drawn to her.
And yet . . . she’s hard not to notice.
CHAPTER FIVE
AINSLEY
“I don’twantGranny and Grandpa to pick me up!” Lily’s declaration rings across the nursery playground, and I know—just know—we’re about to have a repeat of yesterday’s packed lunch meltdown. She’s clutching Mr Flops so tight I’m honestly worried the poor rabbit might lose an ear.
I crouch down, keeping my voice even despite the exhaustion already creeping in at quarter to nine in the morning. “But you love Granny and Grandpa. You always have fun with them.”
Her bottom lip starts its warning wobble. “I want to play Barbies with you after nursery. Like last night.”
I hold back a sigh. I’d planned to work late at the salon today. There’s so much to sort before opening—hundreds of tiny details that’ll eat up hours. I need time to get everything organised.
“You can play Barbies at Granny and Grandpa’s house,” I try.
“Nobody plays them right except you, Mummy!” The wail that follows could strip paint. Several parents turn to stare, and outside the playground a dog barks. I glance over my shoulder. A golden retriever stands at the railings, tail wagging, its owner watching with open curiosity as she passes by with a boy on her way to the primary school next door.
God, can I not even do a nursery drop-off without becoming a spectacle?
Lily’s volume increases. “I WANT YOU TO GET ME! I WANT TO PLAY BARBIES!”
More heads turn. I can feel their eyes—some sympathetic, some judging. My chest tightens. I spent months being whispered about back home. I’ve no wish to be the centre of attention here too.
“Okay,” I cave, hating myself for it. “I’llpick you up.”
The transformation is instant. Tears evaporate, wailing stops, and she beams at me like I’ve just promised her a pony. “Really?”
