“I grew up watching my mom juggle everything by herself,” he continued. “I know that look on your face. The one where you’re already calculating how fast you can pack up and drive across town.” He gave me a small, knowing smile. “Let me be an extra pair of hands.”
I hesitated.
“And just so we’re clear, I know you could handle this. I just don’t want you to miss your chance to sell your spicy nightstands.”
Despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped me.
“What if the guy gets aggressive?”
Wyatt’s mouth twitched. “Then he’ll get aggressive with a grown man, not an eighteen-year-old kid. Let me handle this.”
My phone buzzed with Benji’s text.
“I’ll forward you the address.”
He nodded. “I’ll call you when this is sorted.”
“Wyatt.”
He paused.
“Thank you.”
His gaze softened in a way that made my pulse stutter.
“You don’t have to do everything alone.”
Chapter Twelve
Wyatt
The address led me to a newer subdivision on the edge of town. An area where trees had been felled, and houses had been built shoulder to shoulder along the mountainside.
I parked to the right of the driveway and killed the engine.
Five minutes ago I’d been standing at Vera’s booth trying to ask her out. Now I was the emergency backup for a teenage tree crew. I could see why she was tired.
Ben stood in the driveway, helmet off, gloves shoved into his back pocket. The look of relief on his face when he saw me was immediate.
A tall man in a polo shirt stood on the deck in front of the house, glaring down at me as I approached.
“You didn’t have to come,” Ben muttered when I reached him.
“Sure I did,” I said lightly. “I was bored looking at brochures at the trade show. Another ten minutes, and I was going to buy a hot tub I didn’t need.”
The homeowner came marching down to the driveway. “If you’re with the company, tell him to finish the job. I’m not paying for another visit because he’s incompetent.”
Ben squared his shoulders. “I’m not incompetent. I’m just not authorized.”
Good kid.
I glanced toward the tree in question, studying it. The ground sloped toward the garage. The roots were lifting slightly on the far side.
I was no expert, but that wasn’t a five-minute job. That was abring coffee, ropes, and three grown menkind of job.
I stopped and looked at the homeowner. “Sir, this can’t be safely taken down by one person. It’s weighted toward your garage, and there are power lines overhead. The crew is coming back soon. They can do it right once they’re here.”
“It’s barely bigger than a telephone pole,” he scoffed. “He’s got a chainsaw. What’s the issue?”
