“Oh, right.” I couldn’t help the half smile that tugged at my mouth. “That.”
I’d known this conversation was coming; I just hadn’t expected it to happen here, on my day off, while I was half-dressed and covered in grill smoke, with Delaney’s hand—well, fingertip, but still—touching me.
“Yes,that,” Delaney snapped. “The tiny matter of that multi-thousand-dollar purchase we discussed at length.” His voice sharpened further. “I sent you an email. I linked the exact cabinets I wanted—salvaged metal, ridiculously expensive shipping, worth every penny—and followed up the next day. Do you remember what you said?”
I tilted my head slightly—trying to remember the precise conversation wasn’t easy under the circumstances—but he barreled on before I could speak.
“I said, ‘Did you see the cabinets I picked, Brewer?’ And you nodded. And I said, ‘And?’ And you said”—he dropped his voice in what I assumed was an attempt to imitate my deeper tone—“‘That style won’t work in your house.’ Remember?”
I nodded once. That, I remembered. I’d spent three hours that night researching period-appropriate alternatives that would actually fit his kitchen’s dimensions without requiring us to move the gas line or strip the original plaster from the walls to square them up.
“And thenIsaid,” Delaney continued, “‘I don’t care what you think about my design choices, Brewer. You’re a builder, not an interior designer. These cabinets are exactly what I want for my kitchen, and I’m going to order them today based on the dimensions in your plans.’ Do you rememberthat?”
There was a beat of silence where the only sound was the rustle of the awning in the wind and the crackle of the fire in the grill. I looked down at where his finger was still pressed against my sternum, then back to his face. For one second, our eyes locked… and then he yanked his hand back like he’d been burned.
I found my gaze following his hand, noticing the way he flexed his fingers at his side, and wondered if he’d felt it, too—that strange charge that had sparked between us.
“I remember,” I said finally, managing to keep my voice even.
“But you canceled the order anyway. In direct defiance of my instructions.” He set his hands on his hips. “Admit it.”
“Do you remember whatIsaid?”
He rolled his eyes with such melodramatic flair it was almost impressive. “You said, ‘Trust me, Delaney.’”
I nodded, watching his face carefully. Those three words seemed to be at the heart of our ongoing battle.
Trustwas a funny word, I knew. Simple but not always easy. Some people, like my dad, expected it without doing a damn thing to earn it. But that was exactly why I’d spent years building a reputation where my word meant something, where clientscouldtrust me to do right by their homes.
The fact that Delaney refused to, despite me giving my all to his renovation, felt personal. It hurt.
“And did you?” Annoyed as I was, I didn’t raise my voice or attempt to get in his face. I’d learned as a kid that when you’re bigger than average, it’s a dick move to make someone else feel small. “I know what I’m doing, Delaney.”
“Trust isn’t something people fling around like Mardi Gras beads in my world, Brewer. How can I trust you when you go rogue constantly and never communicate? When you undermine me at every turn?”
“Undermine you,” I scoffed. “I have never once?—”
“Need I remind you that you and your tile guys turned my clean-lined bathroom into a goddamn mosaic Alhambra?”
“Because the tile you picked was meant for a much larger space with a freestanding shower. I gave you choices thatwouldwork?—”
“Three different colors of the same tile is notchoices. That’s like telling a toddler they can have broccoliorspinach.” He huffed, sounding exactly like that toddler.
I lifted an eyebrow, fighting wholly inappropriate amusement. “—and you admitted you liked it.”
“I…” He hesitated, and I caught a flash of something cross his face. “That’s not the point,” he managed, jabbing my chest again. “Not the point at all.”
“Isn’t it?” I demanded. “Isn’t that theentirepoint?”
I’d meant to sound firmer, more businesslike, not so damn breathless. But I found myself distracted by the warmth of his fingertip against my skin and the way his hair was slightly ruffled from what I assumed was his angry drive over. His cheeks were flushed pink with indignation, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses, and despite my growing irritation, I couldn’t help but notice how goddamn attractive he was.
His finger rested against me for a second too long as his gaze slid from my face down to my bare shoulders, lingering for a moment on my chest before darting away.
Heat blossomed under my skin that had nothing to do with anger.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, and I blinked, wondering for a second if he’d caught me checking him out.
“You do?”
