Who on earth is making all that noise? I’m still getting used to the sounds of the new place. This street, and the fact that I’m the last house on it, makes it much quieter than my old house. It’s not that Woodlake is a smaller city than Springfield, in fact, population wise it’s bigger.

It took some tossing and turning before I fell asleep but once I did, I slept like the dead last night. I’m only assuming it’s morning because of the bright rays dancing across the wall, but I have no idea what time it is. What I do know is I could have slept another hour or two if it wasn’t for all that racket going on outside.

Stubbornly, I turn onto my side, pulling my blanket over my face as I try to block out the noise. It doesn’t work, if anything, it gets louder.

I crawl off the air mattress and slowly stand. I slept hard but, as my aching muscles protest, not comfortably. One thing that is better than yesterday is my head cold.

I can breathe through my nose. I inhale to confirm and not only can I breathe, but I can do it through both nostrils.

My sinus pressure is nowhere near as bad as it was either. My throat, on the other hand, is not great. Even though the noise I want to investigate is coming from out front, I head back to the kitchen to get a bottle of water from my mini dorm fridge.

My first gulp burns, the second gulp going down a bit easier. That’s when someone knocks on the kitchen door. Glancing down to the yoga pants and t-shirt I slept in, I wonder if I have enough time to put on a bra. The knock comes again.

I look around and see a flannel button up sitting on top of a box. Setting my water bottle next to it, I quickly pull it on and button it up as I walk over to the kitchen door.

“Hello,” I greet, opening it, surprised to see Noah on the other side.

“I need your car keys,” he replies, holding out his hand.

What in the world?

“What?” I ask, my forehead wrinkling.

He gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “Your dumpster is here and your car is blocking the drive.”

“They can’t be here,” I argue. “They were supposed to call first.”

All he does is smirk.

Peeking around him I look down my drive and dumbly say. “They’re here.”

He starts laughing and I turn to glare at him. “They were supposed to call.”

Leaving him standing in the open doorway, I grab my keys.

“Where are you going?” He asks, when I go to walk past him.

“To move my car,” I reply.

He puts out his palm. “I said I’d move it for you.”

“I can move my own car,” I snap.

He stops me. “You’re barefoot.”

I look down at my bare feet before I pass him my keys with a groan. “Fine.”

He grins at me. It’s too early in the morning for this. What is the dumpster doing here? I mean, I’m happy it’s here but they were supposed to call first.

Did they call? My phone is plugged into my charger over by my air mattress. While Noah moves my car and hopefully doesn’t steal it, I grab my phone.

One check at the notifications and I realize the trash company not only called, they called four times. That wasn’t the most surprising part; it was past nine AM.

I never sleep in this late.

Unless you’re sick, I remind myself.

“You need new brakes,” Noah mutters from behind me and I jump.

“They called,” I reply, lifting my phone as evidence.

He grins again.

Taking my keys, I toss them onto my air mattress. The throw reminds me how sore I am. Reaching up, I massage my shoulder, rolling it.

“Are you okay?” Noah asks.

“I think I slept weird,” I reply, rolling it again.

“Could be the mattress.” He bumps it with his foot.

It slides across the floor to the center of the room. If he was trying to demonstrate how light it is, he proved his point.

“As soon as I’m done with the floors upstairs, I’ll buy a decent one,” I say quietly.

My impulse is to be embarrassed. I have money in the bank; I’m only trying to be sensible with my purchases.

“You could stay with me,” he says, before pressing his lips together.

I stare at him and then ask, “Why would I do that?”

He walks into the kitchen without answering me. I step into my flip-flops and follow him.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“I have a spare room in a house where there are no issues with the floors, the walls, or the mattress.”

“But you’re a stranger,” I blurt.

He folds his arms across his broad chest. “Since you just moved here, everyone is.”

“You’re absolutely right.” I shift on my feet, hoping he doesn’t sense my nervousness. “Even so, I will be fine here.”

There’s a loud boom from outside and I hurry past Noah to the door.

“Relax Finley, that’s only the dumpster,” Noah says.

My steps slow. Oh. I feel silly for rushing.

“Will it hurt my driveway?” I ask.

He comes up close behind me and reaches past me to open my kitchen door for me. “Go see for yourself.”

His arm is stretched out over my shoulder, his body heat tickling my senses. This close I can smell his after-shave. It’s woodsy with a rich musk, it makes me want to shove my nose into the spot where his shoulder meets his neck and inhale.

Instead, I step out on to my driveway to admire my gigantic and surprisingly expensive trashcan. It’s empty now, but I’m going fill it with everything that’s wrong with my house so I can rebuild with everything right.

“I have a dumpster,” I brag.

Noah chuckles, and I can feel the breath of it on the back of my head. “You sure do.”

Turning, I watch the delivery men leave and return their waves.

Spinning back to face Noah I ask, “Should I have tipped them?”

His eyes crinkle with amusement. “No, you don’t tip the dumpster delivery company.”

Did I seriously just ask if I should tip dumpster delivery people?

He must think I’m an idiot. “Just checking.”

“You sure you want to get rid of all the bushes in your front yard?” Noah asks, changing the subject.

“Yes,” I clear my throat, suddenly wishing for my water bottle.

“This spray is no joke. It’ll kill everything.” He says, watching my face.

“No way,” I breathe.

“Way,” he replies, walking away.

“That’s awesome,” I reply.

Someday the front of my house will be so pretty it won’t need bushes to dress it up. All I want is some grass and a couple of planters for flowers on either side of the front door.

“If you’re sure, I’m going to go spray it right now.”

“You don’t have to,” I say, chasing after him. “I can do it.”

His eyes move back to my feet. “You’re not wearing the right shoes, and since it won’t take long, you can get changed while I do it.”

He does make a good point. The spray is most likely a harsh chemical to kill the plants the way he said it would. It would not be a good idea to get any of that on my skin. He’s wearing rugged boots and work pants.

“Thank you,” I murmur and make my way back inside, grinning at my dumpster when I pass it.

I change into a pair of jeans and a tank top before pulling my hair into a ponytail. Makeup is pointless but I do smooth some moisturizer with an SPF on.

Noah is in my den when I walk out of the bathroom, taking the dimensions of the room.

“Thanks again for spraying down the front. It’ll be nice when the path to the door isn’t a jungle. What are you taking measurements for?”

He straightens and looks me up and down. “Nice boots.”

They’re steel toe with a fun floral print. My heel turns so I can admire them.

“Thanks,” I reply, then repeat my question, “What are you taking measurements for? I thought you were going to look at the furnace?”

“My partner couldn’t come by today so I’m going to get you started on pulling up the flooring while I go pick up plywood for your new subfloor instead.” Then he pauses, his eyes roaming over my face. “As long as you’re feeling up to starting today.”

“I am.” I reply.

He crosses the den and moves into the kitchen. “I got you these.”

I follow him, stopping when he picks up a plastic bag. He turns, offering the bag to me. What on earth?

Taking it, I stare at him instead of reaching into the bag like a normal person. “Why are you doing all of this?”

He pushes his hands into his pockets. “All of what?”

“You’ve sprayed down my front yard.” I lift the bag. “Got me something, and you said you were going to get plywood. I don’t know how much you’ve spent already and you haven’t said anything about how much the plywood will be.”

His mouth twitches. “How about you look and see what I got you before you freak.”

With a frown, I open the bag, and then I feel silly. In it is a pair of teal work gloves and matching kneepads. In all my planning, getting a pair of thick work gloves and kneepads was something I had forgotten.

I lift my eyes to his. “These are really nice. Thank you.”

“The gloves and kneepads are a gift, and not an expensive one so you don’t need to feel obligated and like I told you yesterday, the spray was my brother’s. He didn’t charge me for it. Plywood isn’t expensive and even if it was, there’s no getting around needing it for your floors.”

I bend my knees to set the bag on the floor and straighten, lifting my hands up in surrender. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry I panicked. I’m still getting used to the idea of having help. Should I go with you to get the wood, so I can pay for it?”

He shakes his head. “We can settle up later. You can work on the floors while I’m gone.”

I grimace. “It’s cool that I eat first, right?”

He nods, lifting his hand to scratch the back of his head. “Of course. Do you want me to pick you up something?”

I shake my head. “I have stuff here.”

What I don’t tell him is it’s a bulk size box of breakfast bars.

“Do you need any tips on how to rip up the flooring?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure.”

The existing flooring is in such bad shape there are patches where it’s already coming up on its own.

He passes me a small crowbar. “Do what you can and I’ll help as soon as I’m back with the wood. Start in the far corner of the den and make sure to wear the gloves.”

“I will,” I promise.

He leaves and I can’t help it, my eyes are drawn to him as I watch him go. Even though he’s almost the opposite of Allen in every way, I’m still pissed at myself for being attracted to him. The last thing I want or need is a new man in my life, especially not one who buys condoms by the truckload. Would it kill him to have a humpback instead of broad shoulders and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of?

Day one and he’s already helped so much. Yesterday he said I’d be the boss but he seems to be the only one making decisions so far. I decide against calling him out on it because I have no idea what I’m doing here.

Wanting to have progress to show by the time he’s back, I scarf down my breakfast and get to work. The wood flooring comes up easily. Piling it up on my wheelbarrow, I make multiple trips out to the dumpster. The pieces that I’m pulling up are hardwood planks laid out in a parquet pattern, which means each piece I pull up isn’t big or heavy. I’m grateful for both but the process is beyond tedious and on my hands and knees, I’m definitely starting to feel it in my shoulders.

I ignore the ache; I never assumed this project would be easy. With each plank I pull, I’m getting stronger.

What I can’t figure out how to get up is the existing subfloor. There are parts that show signs of rot but without a saw I can’t pull them up by hand.

Focusing on the floor, I can keep my progress going. I’m a good ways toward the middle of the room by the time Noah gets back. He unloads large sheets of plywood into the front living room before coming to check on me.

“Not bad,” he says, his voice full of pride.

I wipe some sweat from my brow. “I couldn’t figure out how to pull up the bottom part.”

He hands me a bottle of water. “We’ll have to use a saw to do that.”

We work together for the next hour. When Noah isn’t looking, I watch him. I tell myself it’s to appreciate how efficiently he moves. For every plank I pull up, he pulls up four. He does use a larger crow bar but his skill is still undeniable. The truth is, I’m captivated by the power he displays, the way his muscles flex and bulge with his movements.

“Do I have something on my ass?”

My eyes snap to his face and I stutter, “I-I w-wasn’t looking at your ass.”

He hums.

“I wasn’t,” I say more firmly this time.

He grins at me. “Okay.”

I try not to look at him anymore but it’s impossible. He’s too attractive, it would be a disservice not to.

We’ve worked all morning and have all of the planks from the den pulled up and thrown into the dumpster.

“Time to start on the existing subfloor,” he says after taking out the last batch of rotted wood planks.

“Be careful,” I warn.

He grins at me. “Come over here. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

There’s a spot in the corner that is rotten straight through. He starts there, and I move to crouch next to him. He points out where he plans to make the cuts so he can avoid the jousts below it.

He cuts out a small square first, and with a grunt, pulls it up.

“This is good,” he says, pointing to the wood beneath it. “Look. The rot doesn’t seem to have spread beyond the floor and subfloor.”

He pulls a screwdriver from his belt and jabs at the jousts to show me how solid they are.

“That’s great!” I beam.

He blinks at me before looking back down at the jousts, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The condition of this house wasn’t a surprise. I knew I was buying it as is. My home inspector assured me that the foundation, beams and jousts were all sound. It’s a relief to get confirmation of that. I was terrified I’d open up the floor and find a rotted disaster.

“How long do you think it will take to get all of this up?” I ask.

“You should move your fridge and microwave to one of the front rooms and keep pulling up the flooring into the kitchen. I’ll get as much of this up as I can before I have to leave.”

“You have to leave?” I ask, and then feel silly for it.

Of course he has to leave. It’s already insane that he’s helping me at all.

He leans back, resting his forearm against his knee. His gaze is intense.

“I can come back tonight. We can eat and then keep working.”

“You’d do that?” I ask, and then add, “come back and help me?”

“Try and keep me away,” he murmurs, holding my gaze.

I look away first, biting back a smile as I get back to work. When I turn back to see how Noah’s doing, my jaw drops.

I gasp and feel my eyes widen. “Wow! You move fast.”

He gives me a half grin. “This isn’t my first time.”

Wow that sounded flirty. Would it be insane to flirt back? Then I remember I’m still sick, not wearing makeup, and am covered in dirt and sweat.

Not to mention the fact that I’ve decided I should be on my own for the time being. I’m clearly reading too much into how nice he is.

Sticking with gratitude, I look at him, hoping he believes what I’m about to say. “Thank you again for doing this.”

“You’re welcome.” He gives me a smile, and we both get back to work.

By the time I have the old wooden planks up in the kitchen, he has the new subfloor down in the den.

When he finishes that, he helps me break apart and toss the old cabinetry.

“That’s all I can do for now.”

“All?” I laugh, looking at everything we’ve done in only part of a day. “You’ve done so much.”

He wets his lips and I hurriedly offer him a bottle of water.

Taking it from me, he says, “I’ll be back later with dinner. Try to rest up so you’ll be ready to work.”

Gesturing toward the wood planks now uncovered from where the cabinetry was I ask, “Should I finish pulling those up?”

He nods. “Go for it.”

I do, working until the cable guy shows up.

He gives me a dubious look as I usher him inside. One good thing about all the holes in my walls from the new electrical wiring is the cable guy doesn’t need to make any new ones. While he works, I finish pulling up the planks in the kitchen.

I’m finished before he is. Though I’m tempted to, I don’t attempt to pull up any of the subflooring. Instead, I admire my new plywood subfloor in the den. Once the cable guy is done, I stop daydreaming about wood flooring and hook up my computer and TV.

After that, I call my mom to share all my good news.

“And he’s doing it all out of the goodness of his own heart?” She asks after I tell her about Noah.

“His sister is my Realtor Abby,” I explain.

She hmpfs on her end of the line. “I never had the sibling of a Realtor renovate any of our houses and we moved four times before we bought this house.”

“Okay, I get this isn’t something that happens everyday but he was concerned I took on more than I could handle.”

“Your father and I were concerned and you wouldn’t let us help,” she argues.

“Mom,” I warn. “I thought this was good news, I wouldn’t have told you if I thought it would upset you.”

“Finley Elizabeth Reeves, don’t you dare say you’d ever keep things from me,”

“Yes, mama,” I agree readily.

“Well, tell me about this man. What does he look like?”

“Why does that matter?” I ask defensively.

My mom covers the mouth of the phone to say something to my dad; too bad I hear every single word. “She won’t tell me what he looks like so that means he’s good looking.”