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“How many years, Nate?” she demanded.

I ground my teeth. “A decent amount.”

“How long?”

“Ask him yourself,” I said.

“Nate.” Her voice turned from demanding to pleading. I wondered just what they shared together out in the storm.

I sighed. “Five years. Violent felony assault,” I said.

Her eyes widened a little, surprise flickering in them.

“Like I said, there’s more to him than meets the eye, and he really has changed. But if you’re going to be playing games with him in the woods, you deserve to know exactly who you’re playing with,” I said.

She fell silent.

19

Ava

If the last few days dragged a little behind the surprise storm, then today was a total reset. The cabin was a chaotic cloud of airborne plaster dust, raw fiberglass fibers, and floating wood particles catching the beams of sunlight pouring in through the windows. The energy was raw and expectant, and it didn’t take much to figure out why–today was Demolition Day and Deacon was the one in charge. Whereas Nate ran his ship with precision and order, Deacon was just a ball of brute strength in motion.

He completely shed his quiet persona here, owning the space with a deep, gravelly voice that cut through the noise without him even having to shout. He stood in the center of the debris, his massive frame dominating the space.

“Ethan, grab the long pry bar and get leverage on the upper window casing,” he barked. “Pop the trim loose first. If you just slam the frame, that glass is going to shatter inward and shower the whole floor.”

Ethan nodded, quickly stepping up onto a rough plywood crate with his tool in hand. Then Deacon turned his dark eyes to the crew supervisor, unfazed by Nate’s rigid military posture or the deadpan look on his face. “Nate, clear those cracked studs out from the center bay as they drop. I don’t want anything stacking up behind our heels while we’re swinging.”

Nate’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He moved to haul away the heavy, discarded timber fragments. I couldn’t help but kind of admire his dedication to the project. I remembered the warning he gave me two nights ago. My gaze instinctively moved over to Deacon, recalling the fact that he’d actually spent hard time in prison.

I knew he was a bit of an ass on his best days, but I hadn’t ever pegged him for an actual criminal. Or a former criminal, if I were being fair. And I knew that even if his intentions were maybe not fully honorable, that Nate did genuinely care about me, at least for Julia’s sake. But despite whatever grudge he might’ve held against Deacon, he didn’t let that get in the way of the job. I liked how they could put all that aside and just focus on the important stuff. Like tearing through the lake house with style.

I watched from the edge of the room, my blueprint tablet clutched against my chest. Despite my advanced architect degree and years drafting high-end designs, I was quietly spellbound by the sight of Deacon’s planning. He was many things, but incompetent was not one of them. He systematically unwrapped the building with surgical engineering precision. And I kind of wanted in.

I stepped forward and put my tablet face-down on the temporary leather sofa, out of the way of the drifting plaster dust. “I want a turn.” I adjusted the straps of my brand-new hard hat, trying to match the crew’s focused energy. “You need this section cleared for the greenhouse blueprint, right? Give me a job. Let me help.”

Deacon stopped what he was doing, his sharp eyes tracking my movements. A slow, rare amusement tugged at his mouth at the corner of his heavy stubble, but he didn’t dismiss me outright. Instead, he gripped the heavy wooden handle of a sledgehammer resting against the exposed wall and held it out to me.

“Alright, architect,” he said, his rumble vibrating under the noise of Ethan’s pry bar. “Let’s see if you can break something for a change.”

I grinned and took the sledgehammer from him.

“Careful with that,” Nate called over, not sounding too happy. I glanced up at him, and he glared back. “Let’s not forget this is a professional renovation site.”

“Don’t sweat it, boss,” Deacon waved him off. “I’ve got eyes on her,”

I thought I heard Nate mumble something like, “I bet”, but it might’ve been my imagination. Deacon stood directly behind me to guide my swing on a non-load-bearing vertical stud. I felt the heat of his chest on my back, the friction of his heavy black canvas jacket, and the scratch of his stubble near my ear as he started going through the basics with me.

Heat pooled in my core, and every nerve-ending fired a warning shot.

Jeez, Ava. You just found out this guy was a criminal in a not-so-distant past life, and you're melting under his touch. What’s happening?

“Don’t swing with your arms,” he spoke in a low voice, his breath warm against my neck. Chills rippled down my skin wherever his breath grazed, as if the words were palpable objects touching me. “Let the weight do the work, just like with the regular hammer on the dock, remember?”

I just about remembered how to nod.

“Good. It’s a similar thing. Except now you drive it from your hips,” he continued.