Page 5 of His Build
“I don’t know him,” she’d whispered apologetically. She was met with skeptically raised eyebrows, because of course she was out for lunch with him.
You wouldn’t have to be if you took Alfred’s offer.
Lucy was the farthest thing from spontaneous. But she was always telling her clients not to let fear get in the way of opportunity.
Her would-be client jabbed a finger on hisphoneand sat back down. He seemed to notice her for the first time since they’d sat down together. “Are you on the phone?”
Lucy’s jaw nearly dropped at the man’s hypocrisy. She hesitated only a moment, then said, “Yes.”
“Then get off!” the client snapped.
Lucy gripped her phone hard, willing herself not to chicken out. “I wasn’t talking to you.” Then she grabbed her jacket and stalked out of the restaurant, a smattering of applause following her.
“Lucy?” Alfred had said through the phone as she stepped outside. “What’s going on? Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Alfred,” she said, exhilaration rippling through her. “I’ll do it.”
Accepting that job had been amazing. It was the kind of massive, decisive action she encouraged her clients to take every day.
But now that she was here, her suitcase jammed in the backseat and Sadie giddily moving her things into her condo back home, the facts she’d conveniently shoved aside in her bold moment were coming in hard. She was going to be spending six weeks in the country. Worse, she’d be on a building site, dealing with construction workers.
She had agreed to go into her own personal lion’s den.
Lucy had grown up in a small town just like Barkley Falls. Her stepdad Stan, who was around until she was fourteen, had worked as a commercial plumber, and she’d forever associate contractors with guys like him. Loudmouthed, controlling jerks who didn’t leave room for her to say anything. While she may have discovered her voice since then, she promised herself when she left Coombes she’d never go back to the country again.
But as Lucy took in Barkley Falls’ picturesque main street (called Main Street, naturally), she had to admit this place was a lot nicer than her hometown. Coombes was an industrial town, whereas Barkley Falls’ bread and butter appeared to be tourism. Unless it was just being cute, if that was an economy. All the shops, with names like Aubrey’s or Debbie’s Place, were open to the unseasonably warm May afternoon, their little striped awnings casting shade over the bell-trimmed doors and barrel gardens out front overflowing with lush spring blossoms. The people on the sidewalks seemed to be a mix of New Yorkers on holiday and more relaxed-looking locals amicably chatting on street corners.
Lucy scowled. Just because it was cute, it didn’t mean the people here wouldn’t be the same as back home. They’d still know all your business, and on a construction site, all the dudes would still be men’s men, waiting for her to screw up. Waiting for her to blush bright red so they could laugh and point, like Stan’s crew used to do.
Shake it off, Lucy.It was only six weeks, and it wouldn’t be the same as back then. She was an adult now. Anyway, she wasn’t even staying in Barkley Falls proper. The motel Alfred’s assistant had booked for her was on Emerald Lake, a mile outside the other end of town.
Ten minutes later, Lucy’s phone map dinged, and a moment after that, the motel’s neon sign emerged from around a bend.
“You have reached your destination,” her map said in its soothing British accent.“Lakeside Motor Inn.”
Well, here goes nothing.
Lucy turned off the country highway and onto a neat gravel driveway that angled down through a thin cluster of trees. At the bottom was a long, two-story log-cabin style motel, with cherry-red doors and a pair of matching Adirondack chairs next to each. To the right was a spread of gorgeous leafy deciduous trees; to the left, the hill she’d come down, ending its slope on a grassy knoll. On the far side of the building, what must be Emerald Lake sparkled in the sun.
Okay, so the motel was cute, too.
Her nerves were still jangling when she killed the engine. But when Lucy stepped out of the car, she was struck by the sweetness of the air. Breathing in its clean, country scent, she did a more thorough scan of her surroundings. Dappled sunlight played across the neatly manicured shrubs in front of the hotel. Bees buzzed along the spring flowers bordering the walkway, and the sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves—and in the distance, lapping water—were a balm to her ears. An image flashed in her mind of her and Sadie as little girls, running around in the fields behind their house; climbing trees and catching tadpoles in the creek.
Getting out of the city wasa good idea. Maybe by unscheduling her life for a few weeks, she might figure out what herreallong-term plan was.
As Lucy walked around the front of her car, her new happiness dipped slightly. That bumper of the guy she hit might be okay, but her SUV had a not-insignificant ding from the truck’s hitch. This car was a lease—she’d have to pay through the nose to get that ironed out. Fifty grand was a ton of money, but it wouldn’t last long in New York if she wasn’t careful. And she’d already spent fifty bucks shutting the guy up.
She recalled the big man with the scar taking the bill from her hand, his fingers brushing hers. A buzz swirled in her belly at the memory of his skin against hers, however briefly they touched. Her cheeks grew hot. For the millionth time in her life, she cursed her mood-ring complexion, even though there was no one there to see it.
Lucy took a last cleansing breath of country air before pulling her suitcase out of the backseat and striding into the lobby. For now, she would take a hot shower—or a cold one to expunge the last of that scruffy country man from her thoughts. Then she had a ton of work to do.
The bell jingled as she pushed through the double doors. Lucy raised her eyebrows as she took in the space.The lobby was decked out with mid-century modern couches in a pale blue with teak accents. The matching teak coffee and end tables were stacked with the same glossy design magazines she had subscriptions to back in New York. And on the wall, a series of classic old motel paintings of pine-dotted lakes hung in perfect increments; a look that, combined with the curated furnishings, looked chic rather than dated.
The place was stylish.
A young Black guy came out, a pleasant customer service smile on his face. The tag on his pressed polo shirt told Lucy his name was Toby.
“Welcome to the Lakeside. How can I help you?”
