“Right, and Iwashere at eight, then I realized I had forgotten my pretty pink hammer, so I had to run home and grab it. I honked. Didn’t you hear me?”
Noah looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.
I’m lying. HeknowsI’m lying.
But still, he doesn’t call me on it. He just huffs, then takes off for the barn again. I trail after him, holding my pink hammer and gloves in one hand and fresh coffee in the other, a bag full of fritters tucked under my arm.
Maybe if he stops being a grump, I’ll let him know I brought him one too.Maybe.
“We’re going to finish the roof, then start tearing down the stalls in the back,” Noah says as he leads us inside. “While I’m working on the stalls, you can tap down the nails. A lot are sticking out just waiting to be run into.” He looks down at the hammer in my hand. “Guess it’s a good thing you brought yourpinktools after all.”
I grin up at him. “See? It was a good reason to be late.”
“Never mind that I have extra hammers here,” he mutters.
“What was that?” I take a loud sip of my coffee. “Can’t hear you over this refreshing caffeine.”
He rolls his eyes. “You got all that? Understand what we’re doing today?”
“I heard you loud and clear, Captain.”
I salute him, and he doesn’t look the least bit amused by me as he turns, setting the toolbox he’s been carrying on the floor. He just digs through it without another word.
Jeez. He’s grumpier than usual today.
Maybe now would be a good time to mention the fritter.
“I brought you breakfast.”
He pauses, then slowly turns toward me. “You did?”
I nod. “Yep. A fritter.”
“Chocolate banana?”
I arch a brow at him, just like he did last week when we did this same song and dance. “Would it be anything else?”
I hold the bag of goodies out to him, and he accepts it, pushing to his full height.
I tip my head back, following him up, up, up.
Sometimes I forget just how tall Noah really is. And I forget just how attractive I find that.
I watch him as he practically tears the bag open and pulls a pastry free. He holds it out to me, but I shake my head.
“I already ate one.”
“Yeah, but if you don’t eat another, I will. Take it.”
I don’t argue. I accept it, then sit cross-legged on the dirty floor.
Eventually, Noah follows along, and I have to stifle a laugh.
“What?” he asks through a mouth full of food. If his mother could see him, I know she’d have something to say about his manners, or more accurately, his lack of them.
“Nothing. It’s just ... you’re tall even sitting down.”
“That’s usually what happens when you’re my size, pip-squeak.”
