“Because it was freezing.”
“It was the middle of August. It’s because you were too damn scared to let those moronic teenage boys—who were way too old for you, by the way—see you with your hair wet, and you know it.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then clamps it shut because she knows I’m right.
Just like I’m right about her inability to handle this kind of work. I appreciate the offer of help—especially since I’m going to need it if I want to complete this on time—but I’m going to have to do a bit better than Odette.
“I just want to help. I ... I need this to go right, Noah,” she says softly, her eyes falling to the floor, shoulders slinking inward. “For my business. I can’t ...” She sucks in a deep breath and looks up at me. “I just can’t.”
Fuck if her blue eyes and her wobbling lip she’s trying so hard to conceal don’t do me right in.
It’s clear she’s struggling. That she needssomethingto go right. This could be that something. I could help her make it that something. I understand that need to prove you’re not a complete failure more than she realizes.
“Then we’ll make this the best damn wedding Port Harbor has ever seen.”
Her lips pull up at the corners, but only barely. “And I can help?”
Knowing I will spend more time fixing her mistakes than it’ll take me to do this alone, I find myself nodding anyway. “You can help, Odie.”
She huffs at my nickname for her. “I amnota dog.”
“No, but you should still be a good little girl and run along.” I pat her head because, although she’s five foot eight, she’s still short compared to my six-foot-four frame. “There are too many things in here you can get hurt on. At least let me finish looking it over. Need to make sure it’s safe before we go any further.”
She swats at my hand, smoothing her already perfect hair as she scowls at me. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to get my Manolo Blahniks dirty.”
And she thinks she can help rebuild a barn.
I return to my inspection, noting the exposed nails that need to be tamped down or taken out as she retreats to the bar, her heels clacking along the floor the whole way.
I squat to pick up a discarded saw blade.Where the hell did that even come from?
“Hey, Noah?”
I turn, my eyes trailing up to her, and I have to make sure I don’t react to just how damn good her legs look from this angle.
“Thank you,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I tip my head to the side. “For what?”
“This.” She gestures toward the barn. “The farm. Everything. Thanks for letting Izzy have her wedding here. You don’t know what this means for her. For ... me.”
But I do know. I know what it’s like to want to create something you’re proud of, to have your name associated with something you’ve worked so hard for. And I know what it’s like to fail. Hell, I did it plenty of times back in my playing days. I did it plenty of times in my marriage, according to Chelsea.
I nod. “Sure. It’s no big deal.”
The smile on her lips tells me it is a big deal.
I’m just unsure if it’s a big deal for her, me, or both.
Patching the roof isn’t going to work. We’re going to need a whole new one.
“How much?” Ezra asks from below. He’s been standing beside the ladder, crunching numbers for the last two hours as I dig around and find problem after problem.
“Add another two grand to the roofing budget.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, but I hear him punch it into his calculator—the one that’s never too far out of reach—anyway. “We’re over.”
He means the budget. He immediately set one aside for repairs for the wedding. A lot of it is stuff we’ve been meaning to do anyway, but now, at least, we have motivation and a timeline. A ridiculously short one, but still.
