Page 49 of Untroubled Heart

“I don’t blame you, Mum,” I say, injecting it with every ounce of ferocity I can. I won’t let her continue apologising for him.

The GPS on my phone tells me I’m only five minutes away from Mason’s house.

“I hate to say goodbye, but I’m almost at work.”

Mum sniffles through the line. “That’s okay. I’m so glad you picked up.”

“I’ll always pick up for you.”

“I love you, Callista.” My mouth quirks at the use of my full name. “I don’t say that enough.”

“It’s okay, Mum. I know you do. And I love you, too.”

I spend the remaining minutes of my drive taking deep breaths and hoping there’s no evidence of the heaviness left from my call with Mum.

Gravel crunches under my tyres once I hit the long driveway leading up to Mason’s house. Not only is he going to teach me more about building, but he’s letting me do it with his own house.

It’s not lost on me how lucky I am to have fallen into this job. Mason really looks after me. He’s so kind and generous. And, Jesus, really, really hot.

Time has slowed, simply to give me this moment to appreciate him in all his glory. Leaning over a trestle table set up on the front porch, his brown hair hangs over his forehead, a tight white T-shirt stretches around his biceps, and that gold chain sways gently over his broad chest. A pencil is held between his lips, and his forearms look thick and golden where they’re braced against the table.

I pull to a stop beside Mason’s car. Monster truck is a more apt description. He moved from his spot in the time it took me to get out of the car, and now waits for me at the bottom of the porch stairs.

“Hey, Trouble.” His back is leaning against the post, one ankle crossed over the other, and his arms folded over his chest, the muscles bulging obscenely for seven in the morning. A girl should have some warning, possibly a form of protection, before being thrust in the face with an image of Mason Heart waiting for her.

“Morning.” I smile.

“Ready for your first day as a tradie?”

I laugh, hoping to downplay the heat blooming on my cheeks. “Sure am. Put me to work.”

“First things first.” He grabs my waist and lifts me over the first step. “That stair’s still broken.”

I gasp, gripping his shoulders as all other nerve endings gather between my legs. “Maybe we should put that on our list to fix first,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the way he steals my breath.

“Nah.” He shakes his head, walking to the top of the porch. “I think we can manage it for a bit so we can get a few more pressing things done first.”

“I think you just like putting your hands on me, Heart.”

He grimaces, but it’s full of tease and temptation. “That sounds highly unprofessional, not at all like me.”

“Mmhmm, I think you’re the one who’s trouble.”

But I’ll give him credit—I did think he was a ruthless flirt when we first met. After working together for a few weeks, I can see there’s a different side of him. I’m certain it’s his natural charm and an entirely one-sided phenomenon that I can’t seem to keep my thoughts of him strictly professional. I’m not dating, but maybe I need to find a way to get rid of the tension. Then I might stop thirsting over my boss.

I tear my eyes from him, focusing on the papers spread out on the table in front of us.

“So these are the new plans that Tristan worked on?”

“Yep, this is what it’s going to be.” Mason shuffles through the pages. “This one is our demo plan. These are the walls we’re taking down and where the new ones will be built.”

His fingers glide over the paper, hovering over the red lines that mark the changes and the thin, black ones that show the new walls. The wall beside the fireplace in the kitchen is marked red, showing how it will sit in the centre of the room with a walkway on either side, leading into a new dining room. A big room extends to the right with windows all around it, so you can see the land from every angle. Bifold doors are indicated on one side that open up to a new deck that the kitchen also overlooks. The space is going to be nothing short of stunning.

“This is so cool.” My own finger traces the path, the exact one we walked the first time we came here, trying to visualise it in this new version.

“And then over here…” Mason draws his fingertip to the far left of the plan, and my finger follows, pulled like a magnet, dancing around his on the page. “This is the new primary suite.”

A long rectangular room stretches into the land, then hooks out on an angle, allowing a bank of windows to face perfectly east. There’s a wall at the end for a bed to rest against, meaning you get a front-row seat to every sunrise.