Page 97

All afternoon, Sam has been trying to help me not look like an idiot in front of Phoenix, which I appreciate. Apparently, it’s a full-time job.

“Go unload the fencing boards from the back of my truck. Just be the muscle.”

“I feel like I should be offended at that.”

“You should be. But trust, it is the best course of action for you.”

I make my way over to Sam’s white GMC and open the tailgate. Grabbing a couple of fence posts and throwing them over my shoulder, I walk past Phoenix, who is painting the exterior trim a crisp white with precise brushstrokes. Her gaze moves over me as I walk by, resting on my biceps holding the post up for a second too long to be accidental. I wait until her eyes meet mine, knowing she’s caught. My mouth turns up, and I give her a wink. Quick enough to know I see her, and that it’s all for her.

When I get to the portion of fence that’s broken and lay the posts down, I’m approached by a young twenty-something blonde woman in a black baseball cap, leggings, and entirely too much caffeine in her system.

“Hello, I haven’t seen you at one of these before. I’m Stephanie. Everyone calls me Steph.” She reaches out her hand, and I give it a quick shake, letting go as soon as is polite.

“Jackson. This is my first time at one.”

“Jacksonnnn. Love that name.” Stephanie lengthens it seductively, and I wish I had never told her, hating how it sounds on her lips. “I’m Stewart’s”—she vaguely points somewhere behind her—“niece. Thank you for coming out and supporting such a good cause. We can always use the help, especially from strong men like you.” She reaches out to touch my arm, and I step back, feigning need to readjust a post.

“Of course, it’s a well-run event,” I mutter, looking toward the wood.

Stephanie twirls her long ponytail around her fingers. “It is. Many of these women are fleeing from horrible relationship situations. My uncle does a great job ensuring the homes are welcoming for them. Speaking of relationships …” She angles her body closer to me. “Are you currently in one?”

“I’m taken,” I respond curtly. Technically true on my side, if not on Phoenix’s.

“Oh, so does that mean you are exclusive? I was wondering if maybe we could grab a drink after this?”

Before I can attempt to gently shut her down, Phoenix saunters over with barely a limp in her walking boot.

“I didn’t know today was about networking. I would have put on a different outfit.” Phoenix points down to her paint-splattered overalls over a white ribbed tank, hair pulled up with a pencil she grabbed from the supply table, walking boot planted firmly in the dry grass.

“You look perfect to me, Sugar,” I say without thinking.

Stephanie looks back and forth between us. “Wait, Sugar. Are you the guy who sang karaoke at the Summit last night? I thought you looked familiar.”

I reach behind my head, scratching my neck, realizing this is going to be my claim to fame in this small town. “Yeah, that was me.”

Stephanie turns to Phoenix. “So that means you are THE Sugar.”

Phoenix gives her a blank stare, not giving anything away. Stephanie hardly seems to notice as she waves her hands in a crossing motion in front of her.

“Nuh uh, no way. I am not even attempting to get in the middle of this epic love story thing you two have going on,” she proclaims as she backs away from us.

When Stephanie disappears behind the shed, Phoenix looks back at me, letting go of a laugh as I join in with her.

“What in the world was that?” she asks, tucking a stray hair behind her ear that pulls a longing, bone-deep wish that it were me doing it instead.

“I guess my performance last night gave me my five seconds of fame.” I shrug.

“Probably going to be longer than five seconds around here. It was a … tolerable rendition. The Archies would be proud, or jealous. Probably both,” she begrudgingly praises.

I open my mouth to respond with something too optimistic when Mack walks over carrying a cedar siding panel she was working with; Stewart a few steps behind her on his phone.

“Urgh, Sam says these are all wrong.” Mack drops the light brown panel in front of us.

Phoenix runs her fingers over the panel. “Ah, I see. These are interior grade.”

“And that means …?” Mack thankfully asks so I don’t have to.

“That one good rainstorm and this stuff turns into a nasty old sponge.”