“That’s… sweet of you, Neve.” Billie’s voice is strained in a way I don’t think Neve catches. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but when we met her at a sustainability workshop last month, I immediately thought of you. You’ll see when she gets here.” Neve glances at her watch. “Which should be in about thirty minutes. Come on, let's get the rest of this stuff inside and get you out of my slides. We’re not even the same shoe size.”
The women head into the house, giggling, and Leo comes to stand next to me, eyebrow raised. “You okay, man?”
“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re reorganizing drinks with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.”
I force myself to stop, straightening to look at him. “Just want to make sure your birthday is perfect.”
He studies me for a long moment, then claps me on the shoulder. “It will be. You being here makes it perfect.” He pauses. “All of you being here, actually. It’s good. The four of us.”
“Yeah,” I manage. “Really good.”
Leo heads inside, and I let out a long breath. A carpenter named Kennedy. Funny. Sweet. Probably perfect for her. Probably doesn’t have panic attacks or a job in another province or a complete inability to respect the boundaries she’s set.
Probably exactly what she needs.
I hate Kennedy already.
CHAPTER 22
I’M STANDING AT A GRILL, COOKING MEAT LIKE A CAVEMAN.
DARCY
Thirty minutes later, I’m manning the grill and nursing a beer when Neve’s excited squeal draws my attention. I don’t even need to look up to know who has arrived.
Kennedy is exactly as I expected: gorgeous and friendly. She’s tall—though not quite as tall as me, from what I can tell, as she stands next to Leo—with dark hair and an easy smile. She’s carrying a six-pack of some local craft beer and a wrapped present.
Of course she brought a present.
“Glad you made it, Kennedy.” Leo gives her a friendly clap on the shoulder.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Thanks for inviting me.” Her voice is like the inside of a cello—low, warm, resonant. It’s a voice that probably sounds great reading bedtime stories, or singing in the shower, or whispering in someone’s ear. She could probably read a washing machine manual and make it sound good.
I flip a steak with more force than necessary.
Neve makes the rounds, introducing the newcomer to some of the guests—people like Amanda, who works at Cameron Construction, and Georgia, Neve’s sister. And then…
“Kennedy, this is Billie. Billie, Kennedy.”
Billie—it finally feels less weird thinking of her this way after weeks of hearing people use the name—is standing by the drink table. When she turns to face the new guest, I see her smile. It’s polite. Friendly. Nothing like the genuine ones I’ve earned, but it’s still a smile for someone else, and my chest feels tight.
“Hey,” Billie says, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Neve’s told me a lot about you. Says you run the best construction company on the south shore.” They shake hands, and—does Kennedy hold it a second too long? Is that a thing that just happened?
“She loves to exaggerate. I try to do good work and not screw anything up too badly.” There it is: the self-deprecating thing Billie does when someone compliments her.
“From what I hear, you’re being modest.” Kennedy grabs a beer from the cooler. “I saw some of your work on the Henderson restoration downtown. The trim detail on those windows? Chef’s kiss.”
My girl lights up at that. She always does when someone notices her craftsmanship. “Oh, thanks. That was a fun project. Nightmare to source the right materials, but we got there.”
“I bet. Heritage work is no joke.” And just like that, they’re talking about wood grain and period-appropriate hardware. And I’m standing at a grill, cooking meat like a caveman, while a carpenter who can probably hand-carve things with her eyes closed makes my girl smile.
“You’re burning that steak,” Leo says quietly next to me.
