Fortunately for the peace and quiet of a Friday morning in small-town New York, Eric and Parker drove in right about then, and everybody’s intentions to get the real work going was derailed by checking in on Eric and applauding Parker for his quick thinking the day before. Tiffany thought it was hard to say which of the men was more embarrassed. Parker kept insisting he hadn’t done anything thatanybodywouldn’t have done, and Eric was mortified at being taken out by a bee.
“Yeah.” Pauline, one of the two other women on Tiffany’s crew, always spoke like she was delivering the punchline to a dry-witted joke. “Because we have total control over our environment and allergies. Definitely your own fault.”
Eric, gloomily, said, “I could have an office job,” which got a burst of laughter from the rest of the crew.
Parker punched his shoulder. “I know what I keep saying, but that’d kill you faster than the bees. C’mon, stop lazing around, let’s get to work. We got a gazebo to fix.”
With all the distraction, the power tools and equipment didn’t really get going until about 7:30, which was almost civilized. Tiffany wasn’t sure about the noise ordinance laws in Virtue, but they were 10pm to 7am in the City, so she figured it was good enough. Forty-five minutes later she texted Ollie with a list of demands, and to her delight—and a little to her surprise and amusement—he appeared on the green about twenty minute later with twomassivecardboard coffee trays.
“I didn’t know there were twelve of you,” he said in his deliciously Australian accent as he balanced his way up to them. “Do youknowhow mad the rest of the queue gets when one guy ordersthirteencoffees?”
“Actually yes. We take turns getting everybody coffee on jobs so the local baristas don’t recognize us right away and groanmiserably when we show up.” Tiffany grinned at him as they distributed the coffees. He was possibly even more gorgeous today than he’d been yesterday, which seemed impossible but true. Maybe it was that his thick black hair was still a little damp from the shower, and tended toward some curls that way.
Or maybe it was that he’d gone and gotten a baker’s dozen coffees for her crew, and was now standing to the side drinking something with whipped cream on top. “Is that hot chocolate?”
He looked like he’d been caught. “American coffee is terrible..”
“Oh my God. You don't like coffee. I’m sorry. We have to move on from this thing between us, because we can never be together.” Tiffany had no idea why she thought there was that much between them to begin with (aside from the fact that he’d proposed last night), but Ollie’s expression of complete dismay was enough to have made the dramatic statement worth it.
“I love coffee," he informed her emphatically. "I just don't likeAmericancoffee. Your most famous coffee chain couldn't make it in Australia. We've got standards, and won't drink it. But I don't mind if other people drink it. I can kiss American coffee drinkers. That’s not a problem.”
Pauline, walking past with a beam over her shoulder, said, “Really.”
Ollie actually blushed. Tiffany laughed. Pauline looked Ollie up and down, shrugged the beam-bearing shoulder, and said, “Meh,” as she went on her way.
Pure offense flew across Ollie’s face and he stared after the other woman indignantly. “I didn’t mean her anyway!”
Tiffany laughed again and patted his shoulder as she drained her own coffee cup. “Don’t worry. Pauline’s type is statuesque blondes. She’s married to a woman who reminds me of Gwendoline Christie.Ithink you’re very handsome.”
“Oh. Well. All right, then. Do you mind if I watch?” Ollie nodded at the gazebo. “My entire family is terrified it won’t be finished in time, and if I stay here to give them a play by play, not only will they be reassured, but nobody will make me chop carrots for the reception.”
“Sure. Just don’t get in the way. And if anybody comes to yell at us, you can be the first line of defense.” Tiffany lifted her eyebrows. “Don’t get yourself in over your head, though. If they can be put off, do it, but otherwise call me. I’m the boss.”
Ollie’s gaze drifted from her eyes down her body and up again with an intensity that didn’t feel like he was undressing her so much as appreciating every inch of her authority. When he met her eyes again, it was with an expression not just of admiration, but of respect and something that seemed like real pleasureinthat respect. “Yes, you are. You are the boss.”
His breath hitched on the last of that, as if he'd cut off saying more. A sudden impulse made Tiffany say, “Were you about to say I could be the boss of you any time?”
His gaze snapped to hers again, pure liquid desire in their dark depths as he gave her the slowest, wickedest smile she’d ever seen. “Yes, Boss.”
It was 9am and hot out already, but the heat that rushed through Tiffany made the temperature seem to rise by about a million degrees. Her knees actually went weak. Her brain melted. She didn’tnecessarilythink of herself as a take-charge-in-bed kind of woman, but she found that she was suddenly very, very willing to explore that option.
Except for the part where she had a gazebo to fix, and hardly any time to do it in. “Go,” she said hoarsely, and waved a hand thataway. “You. You go…you go over there, and let me do my work. Yeah. You…you go.”
Oliver Campbell, grinning, went thataway, and Tiffany Wright enjoyed every dang moment of watching him go, until one of her crew yelled for her and she had to go back to work.
The day was hot,sweaty, long, and hard, and every time Tiffany thought anything along those lines she grinned like she was a dirty-minded college student. Ollie didn't keep the whole crew in coffees all day, although he did spring for lemonade as the temperature soared in late afternoon.
He also fielded alotof questions that meant Tiffany could stay on her side of the safety netting, getting work done instead of explaining over and over what had happened and what they were doing to fix it. At one point, though, Ollie did wave her over, and Tiffany, pushing her hardhat back to wipe a gloved wrist across her sweat-soaked forehead, came out from behind the fencing to meet a pretty purple-haired woman who was standing with a bright-eyed kid of eight or so.
Neither of them lookedterriblyunhappy, so she assumed they weren't with the wedding party. "Hi, Tiffany Wright. What can I do for you?"
"Mabs Brannigan." The woman offered her hand. She was almost exactly the same size as Tiffany herself was, and wore a t-shirt with the wordsHappy Handsacross the chest. "This is my son Noah. He wanted to ask you about the playground project."
Tiffany shook her hand and smiled at the kid. "Sure. Hi, Noah, I—wait a second. Wait a minute, Noah Brannigan?"
"That's me!" Noah stuck his hand out to shake, too, and Tiffany, amused, did so.
"You'rethe Noah Brannigan behind the playground project?"
