Cole set down the bags. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.” He grabbed his shirt from the floor. “Let’s go.”
“Cole, you don’t have to.”
“Autumn.” He crossed to me, cupped my face. “You need help. I’m helping. End of discussion.”
“You have a show tonight.”
“At eight. It’s not even nine in the morning.” He kissed my forehead. “Besides, I grew up on a farm. I know my way around animals and manual labor. Put me to work.”
Heat flooded my body at those last three words.
His grin turned wicked. “Dirty thoughts later. Rescue now.”
Eli met us at the door, wild-eyed and frantic. “Oh thank God. Wait.” He stared at Cole. “Why is the musician here?”
“I’m helping.” Cole rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s go.”
“Can you lift heavy things?”
“Farm boy. Try me.”
Eli’s eyes went wide. “The fifty-pound dog food bags are in storage. We need them moved to the feed room. There’s like twenty of them.”
“On it.” Cole disappeared down the hallway.
Eli grabbed my arm. “Is he real? Like, actually real?”
“Apparently.”
“I might be in love with him.”
“I can see why.”
For the next two hours, Cole worked his ass off.
Those jeans stretched across his backside while he hauled kibble as if the bags weighed nothing. Sweat soaked through his shirt. It clung to his shoulders, his back, every muscle I’d explored last night.
He mucked out kennels without complaint. Scrubbed floors on his hands and knees. Organized the supply closet with the efficiency of someone who’d done hard labor his entire life.
I tried to focus on my own tasks.
Failed completely.
“Where do you want these?” He held two twenty-pound bags of cat litter, one in each hand, barely straining.
My brain short-circuited somewhere between his flexing forearms and the damp hair curling at his temples.
“Autumn?”
“Storage closet. Left side.”
He flashed a smile. Walked away.
Eli appeared at my elbow. “You’re drooling.”
