Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 24365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
I can’t help it. I smile. “You need someone to knock you down a few notches.”
“Careful,” he says softly. “I might like it.”
My pulse stutters.
Behind him, the bar empties as Saxon, Ash, and Axel finish their beers and head for the door, all of them smirking like they’ve just watched something they plan to rewatch later.
Ash calls over his shoulder, “Night, Boone. Don’t scare her off.”
“Or do,” Axel adds. “She seems feisty.”
The door shuts. The room quiets.
Boone looks back at me. “You heading out?”
“Yes.”
“Same direction.”
“I’m stopping at the market.”
He arches a brow. “For what?”
“Milk.”
“It’s eleven at night.”
“I eat Cheerios every morning.”
He laughs, real and unguarded. It does something dangerous to me.
“Cheerios?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Breakfast of champions.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re blushing.”
I am. I hate that he knows it.
“I can walk myself,” I say, stepping around him.
He falls into stride anyway. “Didn’t say you couldn’t. Just said we’re headed the same way.”
We make it halfway down the sidewalk before I veer sharply toward the store.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Firefly,” he calls.
I don’t look back. I don’t slow down.
But every step burns with the awareness that the men of Devil’s Peak are watching.
Especially my sexy, grumpy neighbor from hell.
Chapter Five
Boone
I show up at her doorstep at eight in the morning with a tool bag in one hand and a paper cup of coffee in the other, and I already regret every life choice that led me here.
Not because I don’t want to be here.
Because I do.
That’s the problem.
Her little studio-house sits next to mine like it’s trying to pretend it belongs—fresh paint on the trim, a new wreath already hanging crooked on the door, and a string of lights she definitely doesn’t need and absolutely insisted on anyway. The morning sun hits the snow and turns the whole street into a damn postcard.
I knock once. Then again, because I’m not a patient man and she’s a menace.
The door swings open a beat later, and Ember Price stands there barefoot in a pair of fuzzy socks that have little paint splatters on them like she couldn’t even commit to being cozy without making it artistic.
Her hair’s a mess. A bun that’s losing the war with the elastic. A smudge of blue on her cheek. Oversized sweatshirt. Sleepy eyes.
And I’m immediately aware of my own body like it’s betraying me.
“Boone?” she says, blinking like she’s not sure I’m real. Then her gaze drops to my hands. “Why are you holding coffee like you’re a functional adult?”
“I can be functional,” I say. “Sometimes. When the situation demands it.”
She leans a shoulder against the doorframe, squinting at me. “It’s eight.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re… early.”
“I’m on time,” I correct. “You’re late.”
She snorts. “I’m in my house.”
I lift the coffee cup slightly. “How was your morning bowl of Cheerios?”
Her expression goes blank.
Then confused.
Then her eyes narrow like she’s putting pieces together and doesn’t like the picture they make.
“What?” she demands.
I hold my face perfectly straight. “Your cereal. Your champion breakfast. You know. Since you needed milk at eleven o’clock last night.”
A flush climbs her neck in real time, and it’s so satisfying I almost laugh.
She points at me. “You absolute—”
“Store closed?” I ask innocently.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“It was,” she snaps. “And I… I had to improvise.”
“Oh?” I lean in a fraction. “What’d you do, Firefly? Eat your Cheerios dry like a criminal?”
Her eyes go wide. “You knew it would be closed.”
“I knew.” My mouth twitches. “I also knew it would make you blush.”
She huffs so hard it fogs in the cold air. “Why are you here being all cute and annoying on my doorstep first thing in the morning?”
Cute.
That word lands in my chest like a punch.
I step closer until she’s forced to tilt her head to keep eye contact. Not because I’m trying to intimidate her.
Because I like the way she looks when she has to look up at me.
“Captain ordered me,” I say.
Her brows knit. “Captain… Saxon?”
I nod once. “Inspection yesterday turned up dangerous wiring in your renovation.”
Her face falls. “What? No. I— I haven’t even—”
“You haven’t even,” I repeat, dry. “Which is exactly why it’s dangerous.”
She bristles immediately. “Excuse you. I am perfectly capable of renovating a studio.”
“Sure,” I say. “If the goal is to set it on fire.”
She glares at me like she wants to throw something, which makes me want to smile, which makes me want to kiss her, which makes me want to slam my own head into the nearest wall and end the internal problem permanently.
“So Saxon sent you,” she says, crossing her arms. “Why you?”
“Because I’m the mechanic. And the arson investigator.” I lift my tool bag. “And because apparently my suffering builds character.”
She bites back a smile. Fails. “So you’re here to save me from myself.”
“I’m here because your wiring is a liability,” I say. “And the department doesn’t want to scrape your city-girl ashes off the floor when you decide to plug in forty thousand twinkle lights and a snow machine.”