“I’m serious. It’s in the top ten most thoughtful gifts.” Carter lifts his palm, to stop me from cutting him off. “Yeah. I surely got expensive gifts. Rare collectibles. Custom-made. The type that showed how rich the giveris,” he continues, a genuine warmth relaxing his features. “But no one goes about their day and thinks,Oh, Carter would love or need this.”
I gulp, taken aback by his sincerity. “You’re welcome,”
Charter chases a piece of asparagus around, mulling over something. “I didn’t pack for comfort because I hated the idea of coming here. I wanted to not enjoy it.”
“And now?” I ask, without a clear idea of what I’m hoping for.
His mouth quirks and I don’t know how I’m supposed to ignore how handsome he is.
“Now, my wardrobe could use an update, plus some work boots. Do you know any places in town?”
“Maybe hiking ones if you’re adventurous.”
“You didn’t think I was letting you have all the fun? When’s demo day?”
The small fishing cabin looks better in the May mid-morning sunlight without Sam’s hoarded treasures.
“I can’t believe you convinced this guy to do manual labor,” Sam says, scratching his overgrown salt and pepper beard. He’s leaning on the beech tree, unsure what to make of Carter.
“I didn’t.”
He comes closer to the broken bathroom door we laid over two sawhorses, acting as a makeshift table. “He’s not what I expected.”
We’re both watching Carter check the place, knocking on different parts of the walls for some reason. I hadn’t expected him at all but he still barged in and commanded my attention.
Carter joins us in the shade and looks entirely too confident for a man who has never even seen a sledgehammer up close.
“Where do we start?”
I jump into action and point out the foreman’s notes on the cabin plan.
Waving over the little red Xs, I explain, “Finn said to begin with the interior walls, so we can check the bones.”
“Don’t get why you didn’t let the man tear them down.” Sam turns a bucket and sits. His arthritis is flaring, but he wanted to be here for moral support. And to keep an eye on Carter, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.
“He wanted to do it in his free time so he wouldn’t charge me,” I sigh impatiently. We’ve been over this already. “Besides”—I glance at Carter who is laser-focused on the plan—“the place is small, it shouldn’t take long.”
“Finn would make it quicker,” Sam says, nudging me. “I might be old, but I see how he looks at you.”
The air around us cools by a couple of degrees when Carter’s head snaps toward Sam and those quicksilvers turn to slits. “Are you sure he’ll not take advantage of Eliza?”
“I vouch for him.” Sam waves him off. “We worked together on houses before I retired.”
A muscle in Carter’s jaw ticks. “What’s the first step?” he grumbles.
Why is he being so weird?
“We need to pull out the kitchen cabinets and the shiplap. I want to reuse it, so be careful not to snap it. Then move the furniture outside. Intact,” I point out for Carter’s benefit. “Last chance to bail,” I warn the two men.
Sam rises and rolls his sleeves, nodding Carter along. “Do you know what a pry bar is?”
It doesn’t take them long. Carter listens and follows Sam’s patient instructions without complaint. I would’ve gotten the smaller pieces of furniture out faster if I hadn’t stopped so many times to stare at the two men. Mr. CEO in jeans and a tight black T-shirt pulling cabinets off the walls is unfairly hot.
I have no idea what to do with this realization. He’s pulled back his pointy spikes the past couple of weeks, but it feels like we’re dancing dangerously on a tightrope. In unguarded moments or during our dinners I almost forget who he is. That the realities of our lives couldn’t be more different.
“Gonna get some roast beef sandwiches from Sadie’s. You want anything?” Sam asks me.
“Not hungry is not an option.” Carter’s raised voice carries to the front yard.
