Could you also check to see if they have vegan pie crust? Mine has butter in it.
Ugh. I don’t have time to get everything on her list. Especially not if she keeps adding things and making changes to it.
Anything else while I’m there?
Nope, that’s all. Thanks, honey. Your sister will love this.
I throw my phone back into my black leather Hermès tote. The bag was a splurge, a treat to myself for landing the promotion—whenI land the promotion. I may have been pre-emptive with it, but I figured it would motivate me to work harder. I dig around for my keys, and when I reach for the driver’s-side door, I can’t help but look across the intersection.
The small crowd that was previously milling about has dispersed slightly, and it’s impossible not to notice the fluorescent yellow pants on a very shirtless Hudson Landry. And that half-naked-Hudson is staring right at me. His clear blue eyes flash with recognition when he sees me, and he holds my gaze for as long as my eyes are locked on him.
What in the Magic Mike …?
He’s officially resorted to stripping for money. For the food bank. It’s all the confirmation I need that Hudson is the same reckless, immature boy who broke my heart.
Fuck, but he looks good doing it. Ten years have done a number on Hudson’s body—my eyes rake over the bulging muscles manhood and years working as a firefighter have graced him with. He’s physically nothing like the boy I remember, yet even from here I can still see those dimples in his cheeks. The ones I would gently press my thumb into before I kissed him. The ones that made me melt whenever he smiled at me.
Those dimples were my kryptonite. And then they cracked my fucking heart in two when he dumped me.
Fuck Hudson Landry. And fuck his adorable dimples.
I have a job to do here, and I will not be interacting with him. Even if it means I have to hide out in my hideous childhood bedroom the entire summer.
My car door slams shut with more force than I intend, and the tires screech as I pull away. I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead of me, determined not to look at his rippling abs, perfectly framed between red suspenders.
Because looking like that? I can forget avoiding him. He’ll be a permanent fixture in my thoughts.
CHAPTER 3
WREN
My heart has finally stopped poundingin my ears by the time I park the car in the empty lot of the build site. It’s a relatively flat expanse of gravel and dirt surrounded by towering evergreens, with a small portable trailer positioned off to the side.
I might have been cool and collected talking to Poppy about Hudson, but seeing him within twenty-four hours of arriving in town has jangled my nerves and made me realize avoiding him is going to be more of a challenge than I once assumed.
But giving up is not the Miller way. So, in the five minutes it has taken me to weave my way through town and arrive at the build site for the new community arts centre, I have mentally resolved to try harder. I’m the bigger person here. And since my body betrayed me, getting all flustered and bothered seeing him, I’m convinced my instinct was right when I decided putting it behind me would mean avoiding him altogether.
That means no gallivanting around town with Poppy and no going out to the bar—Hudson’s brother Grady owns the place and that’s enough to make me want to steer clear. At this point, leaving the safety of my home seems out of the question.
I release a breath through pursed lips and refocus on what I have to do today. I’m pitching VanTek Structural for the chance to take the lead on a new community project in Heartwood. It isn’t the type of work my firm normally takes on, but that was the point.
That’s what the firm is looking for in a principal engineer—a fresh perspective, a new lens. I plan on showing Rick that VanTek can expand its portfolio outside of Vancouver by taking on smaller, municipal projects. They’re easier to acquire, less costly in terms of time and manpower, and round out the portfolio in a way that reflects well on the company’s ethics.
We’re big fish helping the small fish, and given the company was recently under fire for getting a little too cozy with ethically compromised corporations, Rick is eager to restore the firm’s reputation.
I pick up the black leather folder that has my carefully curated portfolio of other projects I’ve worked on tucked inside, and get out of the car. A woman who must be the Parks and Recreation director, Shelley, opens the door to the portable trailer and greets me with a warm smile. She’s tall and slender with grey and white waves framing her face, and although she doesn’t look particularly old, she isn’t what I pictured from our e-mail chain. I smile back and wave.
“You must be Wren,” she calls as I navigate the gravel lotin my heels and meet her at the door. When I reach her, I offer her a handshake in greeting. “I’m Shelley. You found the place okay?”
“I could have found it with my eyes closed. I grew up in Heartwood, so I’m very familiar with the town.”
“Right, so you said,” she says, guiding me through the door into the portable. As I enter, I notice the sign on the door,McCall Contracting. As in Joe McCall, I assume, who’s a long-time friend of my dad’s. “Well maybe you can show me around. My wife and I moved here not too long ago.”
“Sure,” I say, although that won’t exactly work with my plan to hide from Hudson by staying indoors all summer.
I glance around the portable serving as the build site office. It’s not fancy—far from it—this thing has probably been moved from construction site to construction site since the very first building in Heartwood was erected.
The carpet is old and brown, and I’m almost certain it’s causing the musty smell making my nostrils flare. The rest of it is tidy, with a desk at the far end and shelves behind it housing neatly organized binders and books. Not much in the way of decorations, though. This is strictly a workspace. And judging by the men’s steel-toe work boots beside the desk, it must belong to Joe.
