After finally kissing her, leaving Finley last night was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I wanted to take her home and to my bed. As much as I want her, I would have been happy just sleeping beside her. The only reason I did leave her was because she said we could talk this morning.

I park in front of her house, a place that feels more like home at this point than my own. By the time I make it to the front door, she’s opening it.

“Good morning,” I murmur, wanting to kiss her again but wanting her to slam the door in my face even less.

“Hey. Come on in,” she replies, her tone uncertain.

Each time I enter her home the magnitude of the changes we’ve made strikes me. The bulk of the renovation to her first floor is complete. It’s taken three months of working almost every night and on the weekends. All that’s left is to finish furnishing and decorating.

Upstairs, the walls are up and primed, plus the floors are down. We need to do some more painting and install her hall bath.

We’ve done so much, part of me is scared she doesn’t need me anymore. She can paint on her own and leave the hall bath until she can hire someone or, after helping on the master, try to tackle it on her own.

If she doesn’t kick me out it’s because she wants more than my ability to swing a hammer.

“I made some muffins,” Finley offers, gesturing toward her kitchen.

With a nod, I catalog her stance, her expression and her tone. I’m on edge waiting to see what she’ll say, but she’s cool as a cucumber.

She twists, her movements smooth as she walks away from me. I follow her.

“About last night,” I start.

She looks over her shoulder at me, her hazel eyes weary and shakes her head. “I need more coffee first.”

Her putting off our conversation for coffee is both infuriating and endearing. This isn’t the first Saturday morning I’ve been over here this early. Her coffee first demand isn’t new.

“Of course.”

We move together well in her kitchen, reminding me that this isn’t our first dance. I’m hyperaware of her body in relation to mine. Her dark chocolate locks are pulled up in a ponytail and she wears loose track pants and a snug tank.

The material of the straps on the back of her shirt coming up in a t-shape, and the thick straps of an exercise bra visible on either side of it. There’s something about the small vision of creamy skin exposed between each strap that makes me unable to look away.

My eyes glide over her skin in ways I wish my hands could.

Her hands hug her coffee mug as she walks into her den. I follow with a mug of my own and a plate of muffins. When she sits I pause. Her couch is a sectional and could easily seat seven adults. Do I sit next to her or give her space?

Patting the cushion to her right, she answers my unspoken question. Stacked milk crates wrapped with a bungee cord serve as her coffee table. Sitting where she motioned, I lean forward to set my mug and plate down.

As good as her cooking is, I can’t eat until I know what she’s thinking.

“About last night,” I start again.

She lifts her hand, stopping me. “I need to say something first.”

Swallowing, I nod.

“You know I’m divorced.”

“That isn’t an issue.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. Please listen.”

I inhale but don’t speak.

“My divorce was finalized only months ago. I’m a mess. My decision-making skills at the moment are terrible. Look at this place.”

I look from right to left when she glares at me for not looking.

“I bought this house. If you hadn’t talked me into letting you help, I would still be sleeping on two air mattresses in my office. And, it’s starting to get colder outside. You cleaned my chimneys and found that bird nest saving me from dying in a future house fire.”

Future house fire?

Oh shit, she’s having a what if spiral. Abby is famous for them.

“No what ifs. If you want to argue you can’t make good decisions I’ll argue you made a helluva good one the day you agreed to take my help.”

A frown line forms across her forehead.

“You also made a very good decision wearing that dress last night,” I blurt.

Her frown line deepens when her eyebrows shoot up. I reach for her mug, taking it from her. Turning away from her, I set her mug next to mine on the milk crate.

Her eyes are on it when I turn back to face her.

“And, another one when you let me kiss you.”

She only looks at me when I take her hands in mine.

“You can’t look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t feel anything last night.”

Her gaze shifts from my face to our joined hands. “It’s too soon.”

“That’s your fear speaking,” I argue.

She looks up, her eyes glassy.

“It is,” she agrees.

I want to kick myself. Using my hold on her hands, I pull her closer before wrapping my arms around her. She tucks her face into my neck. I rest my cheek on the top her head.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I whisper into her hair.

“There’s no way to avoid it,” she whispers back.

I pull away slightly. “What does that mean?”

She gulps. “My parents have been together for forty years and I was married for ten. When you let someone in, two things happen. Their hurt becomes yours as well and if one day they decide they don’t want you anymore, they leave. When they leave, it isn’t a surprise for them. They’ve been doing it without you knowing it for months. They’ve already started seeing someone else. When they leave, it’s just another day, but for you it’s a shock.”

“Finley—“

“I had a plan. It was a bad plan but it was all mine. My friends and family were going to stay in Texas and I was going to be here all by myself.”

“Why are you so sure you should be alone?”

“It’s safer that way.”

“You’re not built that way.” I ease her even closer. “You’re trying to punish yourself for picking the wrong man.”

She pulls back and I lift my head, watching as she tips her chin up until her eyes lock on mine. “You don’t know someone is wrong until it’s too late.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“I need you to be my friend,” she whispers.

“Nothing more?” I ask.

She nods and I fight back my impulse to throw her over my shoulder like some caveman.

“Forever?” I push.

She nods again. My chest tightens as my fingers itch to pull out my hair. Knowing she’s only trying to protect her heart is what stops me from losing it.

Still, not wanting to let this farce go on anymore, I shake my head. “Nope.”

Her lips part and I can’t take my eyes off them.

“You’re wrong about this and I’m going to prove it to you.”

“Noah—“

“No, listen to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

I press my lips to hers and am encouraged when she doesn’t pull away.

It’s not a long kiss. I don’t want her to push me away. For now, we’re going to be friends that kiss. As soon as she settles into that, we’ll be friends that do more than kiss.

Much more.

“I’m not sure I can do this.”

“It’s okay,” I reply. “I’m sure enough for the both of us.”

I reach around her to reclaim her mug and then pass it back to her. Then I keep her close tucked to my side.

“Is this okay?”

She’s skittish at first but tentatively lifts her mug to her lips for a sip. With each second that passes, her body relaxes against mine.

She never answered my question so I ask differently. “This so bad?”

“It’s—“ she hesitates before saying, “not.”

I grin. I can work with this. After she takes another drink, I shift both of us to grab my plate.

“I know you’re freaked.” She stiffens and I keep going, “I’m not going to push it anymore now, but this conversation isn’t over.”

She gulps but doesn’t pull away.

“Did you hear back from your mom?”

My question gets her moving, out of my arms and off of the couch. “I was so distracted I forgot to tell you. They’re coming today.”

I forego my muffins and coffee. “Are they flying into Manchester?”

She nods and I stand. “When does their flight land?”

“Five o’clock.”

“Alright. Is there anything around here you want done before they get here?”

She nods again and I bite back a laugh. “We’re tight, babe, but I can’t read your mind.”

Her face softens, a smile peeking from the corners of her mouth. “Can we paint upstairs?”

I grab my coffee and down it. “You cut the edges, and I’ll roll.”

All tension from earlier is gone. We’ve worked together long enough it’s easy to ease back into the routine of it.

“What are your parents like?”

When she doesn’t answer, I set my roller back in the tray and turn to look at her. “Finley?”

She’s on a stepladder, paintbrush suspended in midair. “They’re best friends.”

Just like my parents.

She rests her brush on her paint filled cup and climbs down the ladder. “I’m going to open the windows in the other room to help with fumes.”

She’s running away. I get back to painting and let her come to terms with the epiphany she just stumbled upon. She’s trying to protect herself. As soon as she figures out I’m on her side she’ll get that she doesn’t need any protecting from me.

“Okay, all better,” she chirps, coming back in.

It doesn’t take long to get one coat of paint on the walls. There’s no furniture to move and the floors were already covered.

“How do you stay so clean when you paint?” She asks, breaking the silence that had ensued since she came back.

Frowning, I look down at my clothes and then at her. My frown shifts into a smile.

“How do you get so much paint on yourself?” I counter.

Shocking the hell out of me, she jabs me in the chest with her paintbrush. My chin dips as I look down at the glob of off-white paint now marring my maroon tee.

Lifting my roller I grin. “You’re going to regret that.”

With a squeak she turns toward the door. Lunging, I hook her by the waist and haul her flush against me.

“Noah,” she exhales.

“Shh. I’m looking for a clean spot.”

Squirming in my hold she lifts her paintbrush.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn.

Ignoring me, she drags her brush across my forearm.

Dropping my roller into the pan, I pluck her brush right out of her hand.

“No,” she shouts, reaching for it.

I hold it up above our heads as she turns to face me. Pushing up onto her toes she tries to get it back from me. Her hand is on my shoulder, her breasts pressed to my chest. She has no idea what her physical proximity does to me. All I want to do is kiss her, instead I brush some paint onto her cheek.

“Noah,” she snaps, stepping away.

“What?” I innocently ask.

With a huff she spins and leaves the room muttering something about washing her face as she goes.

My gaze follows her and I will my body back under my control. It’s a full minute before I start to clean up all of the paint. She hasn’t decided what colors she wants to use so we’ve been using standard builders’ beige.

After I clean and pack up all of the materials into one of the spare bedroom closets, I head downstairs. Finley can cook and bake like a master, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make a damn good sandwich.

I don’t turn when I hear her footsteps behind me. “Want one?”

“Yes, please.” There’s a touch of a Texan twang to her voice. I’m not sure what it is but I can’t stop thinking about her someday saying please when I have her in my bed.

Snapping my attention to the food in front of me, I will the hardening in my boxers to stop. She chatters away behind me but I can’t hear a word of it until I have my body back under my control.

She pulls a pitcher of sweet tea from her fridge. Before her, I drank mine unsweetened. She’s converted me since then.

“I want a table.”

That statement has me turning my head to look at her. “Okay. There are a few places around here that sell tables and chairs. Want to check them out after we eat?”

“Can we build one?”

I choke back my surprise. “Sure, but not before your parents get here.”

She walks out of the kitchen and before I can stop her and agree to build her a table right now, she comes back holding her cellphone. “What about something like this?”

On her phone is a how-to video of a man attaching legs to a paneled door. The process to attach all four legs takes the man twenty minutes from start to finish. We sell legs like the ones he uses at Thompson’s for five to ten bucks a pop, depending on how tall of a leg you get. Finley and I found an old door in her shed weeks ago.

“You sand the door and I’ll go get the legs.” I tell her, my own excitement building.

Still holding her phone, I catch her when she throws her arms around my neck to hug me. Closing my arms around her, I let her warmth seep into me.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

Not wanting to, slowly, I let her go and set her phone on the counter. “I’ll set up the sawhorses and grab the door from the shed.”

She surprises me again, this time by framing my face with her hands and kissing me.

She’s gone before I can react. I watch her go, my eyes entranced by the way she moves. Yep, I can work with this. Once she’s out of sight, I pick up my sandwich and eat it as I walk out to her shed. The door she was talking about is on top of a pile of junk. Finishing my last bite, I hold onto part of the frame and stretch to reach the door.

Pulling it out of the shed, I inspect it for wood rot. Pleased to find it in good shape, I carry it to the back of the house and lean it near her kitchen door.

“I’ve got a sawhorse,” Finley says, trying to carry it and hold open the kitchen door at the same time.

“Here, let me,” I say, hurrying over to take it from her.

“I’ll get the other one,” She replies as soon as I have it.

This time I meet her in the kitchen and she holds the door for me. While I set up the sawhorses and place the door on them, Finley gets my sander.

“Want me to pick up some wood stain?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I can run out with my dad tomorrow. He’ll get a kick out of helping me with this.”

“I’ll be back,” I reply and lean in to press my lips to her temple.

Kissing her last night unlocked this need to touch her, kiss her. I can’t keep my hands off of her.

* * *

“Surprised to see you in here today,” Eli says when I walk up to the register with what I’ll need to turn her door into a table.

“Surprised to see you up front.”

He frowns. “I had to fire Vicky today.”

“No way. That sucks,” I say, trying to remember which one Vicky was.

There’re some employees at the hardware store who have been here since I was in high school. Then there’re short timers who don’t stay long at all.

“What’d you have to fire her for?” I ask.

“She was always late. Since it was never more than five minutes I let it go but.” He points up to a camera aimed at the register. “I caught her on the tape pocketing a fiver from the till.”

I shake my head. “What’s wrong with people?”

He nods. “Fucking sucks. I’ve been going over all of the tapes to make sure I didn’t miss her taking more and until I can hire her replacement, I need to cover for her.”

“Want me to see if Justin can come help out? You’ll have to pay him but he knows his way around the store and can work in the afternoon.”

Eli blinks. “Thanks.”

I punch his arm. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Finally, we had an entire conversation where he didn’t give me shit about Fin. As much as we can get on each other’s nerves, he’s still my brother. I load up my truck and head back to Finley’s.

She’s still sanding when I get back.

Since she won’t hear me over the noise of the sander, I reach over and unplug it.

“Hey!” she complains when it stops working.

“Hey yourself,” I greet, and then peer over her shoulder. “How does it look?”

She twists her face to look back at me. “I love it.”

I shift away from her and drag my fingers across the wood. The sanding smoothed away layers of black paint, leaving a cool distressed pattern.

“That’s good news because I bought something I think you’ll like.” I tell her, not being able to keep the smile off my face.

She squints at me. “You got me something?”

“Wait here,” I order.

At the store they sell sheets of acrylic that can be cut to size. The door Fin wants to use is paneled. She can cover it with this clear sheet to make it a level dining surface.

I set it on the door, and start to unroll it.

Once she sees what I’m doing, Finley jumps to help. “This is perfect.”

“We’ll need to mount it so it won’t move while you’re using it.”

“It’s—“ She pauses, looking from her table and then to me. “Amazing. Thank you.”

“Anytime. It felt pretty smooth. Were you done sanding?”

She grins. “Just about, it’s beat up at the bottom of the door. I was finishing up on it.”

I roll the acrylic back up. “You finish up that part and I’ll get the legs ready.”

I drill a hole into the center of each leg and then screw a hanger bolt into each one.

“Can we flip the door now?” I ask, as soon as I’m done.

She nods, unplugging the sander and then moves to one end.

After we flip it on the sawhorses, she asks, “Can I do the drilling?”

Can she do the drilling? If she weren’t at the other end of that door, I’d kiss her right now. Picking up my drill and one of the metal leg plates, I move to her. Before I give her either, I press my lips to hers. Her hands move to grip my waist. She doesn’t pull away and I’m grateful for it.

“Of course you can,” I rasp, after breaking our kiss.

I hold the plate steady for her while she drills in each wood screw. As soon as we have all four plates mounted, we screw each leg in.

“Ready to flip it over and see how it looks?” I ask.

She nods excitedly.

Once it’s flipped, her eyes go dreamy. It’s the same look she gets whenever what we’re working on starts taking shape.

We’ll need to clean off the dust from sanding before we mount the clear top, and the legs are unfinished so Finley and her dad will still have a project they can work on together.

“I’ll get some cleanser and a rag.”

When I reach the kitchen door, I glance back at her and find her watching me. She bites her lip but doesn’t look away.

I don’t care how long it takes, I will earn her trust.

And then her heart.