I forced a laugh. “Good God. We actually found a treasure,” I muttered. “Does this mean I have to call Janice for real?”
Brewer laughed, too. “Probably. And you could ask Samuel Purchase.”
I turned my head and frowned. “The guy from theGazette? The guy with… Admiral Barkington?”
Brewer nodded. “Sam knows alotabout the history of the area. Really smart guy. Funny, too. I redid his bathroom a couple years back, and we’ve had dinner together a few times.” Brewer’s mouth quirked into a half smile. “Apparently, the Admiral insisted.”
“Oh. Well. That’s… that’s great for you.” I sat back on the floor, fighting an unexpected twinge of something like jealousy. If I recalled correctly, Samuel was pushing retirement age, but maybe that was Brewer’sthing. “And for him.”
“What’s that mean?” Brewer asked, catching my expression.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just… you seem to know everyone in town pretty well.”
“Notwell.” He shrugged. “But when you’ve lived here a few years, you can’tnotget to know most of them, at least a little. They won’t let you,” he joked darkly.
I nodded, striving for Brewer’s casual tone. “And do you make it a habit of getting to know all your clients… thoroughly?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Brewer’s eyes widened slightly before his expression shuttered.
“No,” he said firmly. “I fucking donot. This job’s a first for me in that regard.”
Our eyes locked, and I saw nothing but sincerity in his gaze.
My shoulders slumped. “Brewer,” I began. “Look, about last night?—”
He shifted, twisting on his boots. “Delaney, last night was…” He shook his head and smiled slightly. “I don’t have to tell you how good it was. You were there.” He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “But this… you and me… it’s a bad idea. I’m your contractor, and you’re my client. And if people in town found out we slept together—which they would, since lots of ’em already suspect it—then I become known as the guy who sleeps with his clients instead of the man who does the best restorations in the area.”
“Okay, but?—”
“I’ve got a job to finish,” he continued, holding up a hand to keep me from interrupting. “And I want—need—to do it well. Barnum Restorations is my life, Delaney. It’s what I love and how I honor everything my grandfather taught me about this work.”
“Your grandfather?” I frowned. “Did he start Barnum Restorations? I didn’t realize it was a family business.”
Brewer shook his head. “It’s not. I told you last night I don’t have much to do with my family aside from Hayes. My father…” He hesitated. “He’s not a good man. He gave away something that was mine, and I’ve never forgiven him for it. But my grandfather…hewas amazing. He taught me restoration work by letting me help him restore his own house one room at a time. And he taught me about the importance of integrity. He used to say, ‘A craftsman leaves two things behind, Brewer. The work of his hands and the weight of his reputation. We’re only as good as the promises we keep.’”
I leaned back, watching as he ran a hand through his hair, his massive shoulders tense under his T-shirt. A traitorous part of my brain couldn’t help but remember how those shoulders had felt under my palms last night, solid and warm.
But I also recognized how important this was to him.
“That’s beautiful,” I said softly.
“It’strue,” Brewer corrected. “The houses I work on aren’t just jobs to me. They’re… promises.” His voice softened. “I promised you a renovation, Delaney. Not complications.”
I swallowed. “And last night was a… a complication.” I tried to keep the hurt from my voice but failed, and my chest tightened with embarrassment.
Of course Brewer was being pragmatic about this. I should do the same.
Brewer’s eyes met mine, and something in them made my breath catch. “Last night wasn’t a complication, Delaney, it was a goddamn hurricane. And I…” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Fuck. Hayes is right. I don’t know how to talk about this stuff.”
“About complications?”
“About… feelings.” He looked up. “About… starting something with you.”
“Oh.” The single syllable escaped me like it had been punched from my lungs.
The very idea of “starting something” with Brewer was knee-knockingly terrifying. All wrong for the life I led. For the person I’d always thought I was. My track record with relationships was objectively terrible, and the common denominator was me.
Besides, what kind ofsomethingwere we even talking about?
