“I think it’s the thermal fuse. We just need to replace it.”
Her hand grips the doorknob. “Wedo?”
“I’ll keep you updated.” I duck my head to hide my smile.
“Are you doing the chores in the order I gave them to you?”
“Yes. And I’m doing them in spite of the fact that you haven’t lived up to your end of our bargain.”
Her jaw is so tight it might break. I’m clearly exceeding her expectations if she’s this pissed off. There are still a couple hours of sunshine left, and I’ve finished more than half the items on her list today, a list that has doubled every day.
The first night when I arrived at the main house to talk to her, Jacob told me she was sleeping. Last night, I asked two questions before Jacob came running in with an emergency C-section—which he tried to explain had something to do with their sectional sofa after Finley gave him a pointed and exasperated look. They don’t have a sectional sofa, something she knows I’m aware of since I carried Jacob through their living room the other night.
“You fixed that backed-up toilet in seven?” She taps a foot on the concrete floor.
“Yep. The shower was draining slowly too. I used a snake to clean everything out.”
I stand from my crouched position and push the dryer back against the wall, facing away from Finley.
“When I’m done with this, I’ll start on the gutters.” I turn to face her, and our eyes meet a beat later, after her gaze has dragged up from somewhere in the middle of my person.
I bite down on the urge to smile. “Were you just checking out my ass?”
Her mouth pops open then shuts. “Of course not.” Her protest is overly loud in the confined space.
“You were too.”
Her cheeks flush, and I release the grin that’s been nudging at my mouth. It’s irrepressible.
I expect her to fight me more or storm away. But she doesn’t.
“Fine.” She releases her vise grip on the doorknob and crosses her arms over her chest. “I was looking at your ass. I can’t help it that you look like that. Maybe you should dress less provocatively.” Her tone is accusatory.
I glance down at myself with a frown. “Less provocative than jeans and a dirty sweater?”
She nods emphatically. “You’re just asking for it.”
Before I can respond to that surprising comment, she exits with a huff and a flick of her braid.
Amusement spreads through me like a warm wave. The dryer buzzes, and I pull out the clean sheets, folding them into the hamper so I can take them back to the cabin.
We have undeniable chemistry, and I know she feels it too. I’ve been doing my best to keep everything professional. We’ve gone down that road, and she doesn’t want anything further. I can’t put her in an awkward position—again. She’s already running herself ragged, which is why I haven’t pressed for my time the past couple of nights.
I move laundry from the washer into the dryer and push the button, resting my hand on the top of the machine where it’s warmest.
I’ve made it my life’s work to help people who are struggling. Maybe I do that because of my upbringing and being the sole person my mother relied on from a young age, but this is . . . different somehow. This isn’t my normal drive to help a business get back on its feet, earning the satisfaction from taking the most impossible case and giving it a chance, giving the owner hope.
I wasn’t sent here to give her hope or to save this place. I was sent here to fulfill my duty to Oliver and get her to sell it to him. Then I’m leaving. Nora, my business partner, is going to need me sooner rather than later. I have a life to return to, a . . . well, I don’t have a home per se, not since mom died. But I enjoy my job for the most part, although traveling so much has started to wear on me just a little.
I pick up the hamper and head out of the dark shed and into the early-spring day, squinting against the sun, the patches of snow still lingering on the ground casting up reflective light.
A trill of laughter coming from the main house catches my attention.
Jacob lobs a dirty snowball at Finley, and she retaliates by chucking a disposable coffee cup at him. He lurches out of the way, barely escaping getting knocked in the shoulder by the cup. It skips over the ground, spilling dark liquid all over the gravel drive.
“Finley!” Jacob’s voice carries over the fifty or so feet between us. “That was almost full.”
She throws her head back, her laughter bright and infectious.