“Thank you. Have a nice day, sir.” I press end on the call and quickly change my call status from available to offline. My shift is officially over for the day, and now the real work begins. Leaning forward, I pull my headphones off and set them next to my computer then I reach down to turn off my heating pad.

Over the past two weeks, Noah has been over almost every night after work and on the weekends. My new subfloors are done and we’ve pulled off all the drywall on the first floor, including the ceiling. There were a few places where we needed, and by we, I mean Noah, to repair some wood rot in the walls.

Then we used this machine to blow foam insulation into the spaces between the studs. Tonight we start putting up new drywall. Noah says the walls need to be up and primed before we install my new wood floors.

This whole time I’ve also been back to work during the day. I’m currently in a near constant state of sore.

Working on this house, I’ve discovered muscles I was not aware existed. All of my aches and pains have the happy side effect of keeping my thoughts squarely on the physical. If by some chance they drift to Allen, all I have to do is try and lift my hand above my head to focus on the pain instead.

More than once, Noah has offered me his spare bedroom. Each and every time I’ve declined. I can’t spend the night at his house. That would be bonkers, or at least crazier than my current level of insane.

Last week I bought another queen-size air mattress that I stacked on top of the one I already had. As long as I keep them both full of air it’s almost like I’m sleeping on a regular bed. At least that’s what I keep telling myself each time I wake up after toppling off of one in the middle of the night to stop daydreaming about any of the beds in his house.

The one daydream that I’ve been unable to stop, though, is the one where I throw myself at Noah.

Yesterday he took off his shirt.

He’s so broad and solid and I could not stop staring at his chest hair.

What is wrong with me?

I had a plan. My plan didn’t include a hot contractor helping me, but since I’m weeks ahead of schedule and under budget I’m not complaining.

I’m still a mess. This morning, my social media account showed me a memory that on this day seven years ago Allen and I went to Las Vegas. It was the last time I remembered being happy in my marriage. Not just that, it was the last time I felt any sort of hope for our future.

Looking at myself in that picture, the weight of the last seven years came crashing down on me. I cried through my lunch break and sniffled off and on through my afternoon calls.

Noah will be here any minute and I’m sure he’ll know I’ve been crying. Why am I even crying over Allen? He was a mediocre boyfriend who became an awful husband. I should be jumping up and down and singing freedom at the top of my lungs. He doesn’t deserve my tears and it’s seriously pissing me off that he got them.

“Finley, you here?”

I plaster on a fake smile. “I sure am.”

He sets a toolbox down. “I have a surprise for you.”

That gets my attention. I stand, groaning as I do.

“Your back hurting?” He asks, his expression not masking his concern.

“Just stiff. I’ll be fine once I’m moving around so no changing the subject. What’s the surprise?”

His eyes move over me, examining me with his gaze as I close the distance between us. “Your eyes are puffy and your nose is red. Have you been crying?”

I frown, glaring at him. “It’s from the construction dust. It’s been making my eyes water and me sneeze all day.”

His eyes narrow as he considers my words. Can he tell I’m lying?

My answer is completely plausible. We’ve been kicking up tons of dust, not that any of it has made me sneeze. It might sound crazy but I don’t mind the mess. It’s proof of all the progress we’ve made and luck that we’ve been able to do the work at all.

“Surprise?” I remind him.

He frowns but does it holding open the door for me. “Check out what’s in the trailer.”

The trailer? He only hitches it to his truck when whatever he’s hauling won’t fit in the bed. There’s only one thing I’ve ordered recently that wouldn’t fit.

I grab his arm, my chest pounding when I feel how firm it is. “Is it?”

He nods and I give him a grin before racing out the door. Since we raked up all the carcasses of the jungle that once made up my front walkway impassable, it’s easier to maneuver around and makes it actually usable. Not to mention it looks like less of a dump. I skid to a stop at the back of Noah’s trailer and open the doors.

“My floors!” I exclaim, turning to grin up at Noah who followed me out to his truck. “Does this mean we get to start them tonight?”

They did not have the wood floors I wanted in stock. I had assumed Noah said we needed to do the walls first to keep me distracted until they came.

He shakes his head. “We still need to drywall first.”

“But why?” I interrupt, gesturing to the trailer full of hardwood.

“We need to unload the flooring and let it acclimate to the climate of your house,” he explains.

I gape at him and can’t help but argue. “That sounds made up.”

He reaches past me to pull a box out, motioning with his head for me to grab the other end. “It’s not.”

“Bummer,” I say, my lower lip pushing out.

He takes one hand from the box to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “No pouting. You get new walls today.”

The shock of his callused fingers on my skin makes me shiver. To hide my reaction, and since I can’t argue with his logic, I pull away to grab the other end of the box.

My voice sounds funny when I ask. “How was your day?”

His head tilts to the side. If he heard the strain in my voice he doesn’t mention it. “Annoying but better now.”

Better now?

I avoid that and focus on the first thing he said. “Annoying how?”

“Eli,” he grunts.

He doesn’t mention his older brother often, but when he does it’s clear they clash. “What happened?”

“He was there when I picked up the floors.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He blinks at me. “You’re apologizing for my brother being an ass?”

I shrug.

He reaches out and tugs on my ponytail. “Thanks.”

Unloading a million boxes of wood flooring sucks. The first one we carried didn’t feel that heavy. The fortieth one on the other hand, weighs a friggin’ ton. What doesn’t suck is the way his biceps look each time he lifts one.

We split them up across the four main rooms because Noah claims that the climate from one room can differ to another. We break for water before getting started on the walls.

We’ve got all the drywall up in the kitchen when I ask, “Time for dinner?”

Noah uses his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead. “I could eat.”

“What sounds good? I can go grab it.”

His face softens. “Only if you let me pay.”

This has become our nightly dance. I offer to get food, and Noah accepts as long as he gets to pay. I would argue that he had already paid and that he was doing all this free labor on top of that. He would then counter that once we put in my kitchen he’d be willing to let me cook for him.

My love for cooking and excitement over designing a kitchen had come out last week. I’m not sure if he believes that I’m an excellent cook or not.

“Fine,” I grumble, holding out my hand.

Before he can pull out his wallet, we hear a giant crash from the back of the house.

With wide eyes I gasp, “What was that?”

He turns, charging toward the hall. What he doesn’t do is answer me. I chase after him, trying to overtake him but a muscled arm holds me back.

When we reach the opening to the den and kitchen, my lips part in shock. The arm holding me back becomes the anchor I cling to so I don’t collapse to the floor. I’m not sure where to look first, to the gaping hole in my ceiling or at the shattered toilet in front of us.

“Is that my toilet?” I stupidly ask.

“Yep.”

My eyes move back to the ceiling. “There’s a giant hole in my ceiling.”

“Yep.”

I huff out a breath. “Can you say anything other than yep?”

His head turns so he can grin down at me. Growling, I smack his arm before he can say yep again.

“What am I going to do?” I ask, my voice rising with my panic.

He moves, so fast that if I had blinked I would have missed it. Standing so close, his head dips, his lips inches from mine. A toilet just fell through my ceiling and I think Noah is about to kiss me. I so cannot handle that right now. Ducking his embrace I dash around him, the porcelain wreckage on the floor my excuse.

“I’m in over my head,” I admit, for multiple reasons.

He exhales and I cringe, cringe right down to my bones. What is my problem, apart from the obvious?

“I’m guessing you don’t want to add a bathroom right here?” His voice is full of humor.

Some of my embarrassment floats away on the wings of the unexpected laughter that bubbles up inside of me.

Pointing at the mess I continue the laugh. “There’s a toilet in my den.”

He stands next to me and I follow his gaze to the ceiling. “Another couple of holes and you could have a skylight.”

We both laugh and I’m grateful there isn’t any uncomfortable tension still lingering between us.

Because of that I feel safe enough to repeat my earlier question. “What am I going to do?”

“First, you’re going to take a deep breath. Then, you’re going to remember that either of us could have been standing under it when it fell. Last, we’re going to go upstairs to see how bad the floors are rotted.”

Turning, I blink up into his ocean blue eyes and reply, “I wanted to reuse that toilet in my new bathroom.”

His warm gaze travels over my face. “You’re gonna need a new one.”

I glumly nod in agreement.

I follow him up the stairs to see the rest of the damage. “Does stuff like this happen a lot in renovations?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Yep.”

I frown at his back but keep my mouth shut. I’m not sure how much wiggle room my budget has for another disaster. He makes me stay at the top of the stairs, the only part of the second floor he’s certain isn’t rotted, while he looks at the floors.

“What do I do if you fall through too?” I ask, only half joking.

“Call 911.”

Such a smart ass, that one.

His response makes my heart start wildly thumping in my chest. “Maybe we should have someone else look at the floors.”

His head pops out of the guest bath. “Worried about me?”

I shrug, avoiding his eyes.

Carefully stepping out of the bathroom, he says, “Gutting that room just turned into a priority. Wait there while I check the master.”

Holding myself still, I focus all my attention on listening to his steps, cringing each time the floor groans or squeaks beneath them.

When he makes his way back to me I almost sag with relief. “How bad is it?”

Gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb he explains, “there’s water damage but not as bad as the guest bath.” He’s standing right next to me, so close his breath tickles my cheek when he adds, “your other toilet is safe to reuse.”

“Hooray,” I manage to squeak out and then want to kick myself.

Who celebrates saving a toilet? Apparently I do.

He follows me down the stairs and together we clean up the mess in the den. The water damage upstairs isn’t a surprise and thankfully, since the flow had been turned off up there, the mess we cleared wasn’t a wet one.

After our last load to the dumpster, Noah pulls out his wallet. “I was hungry before. Now I’m starving.”

“You’re already doing so much. The least I could do is buy you dinner,” I argue.

He holds out a couple of bills to me. His smile does not fade when I grumble how stubborn he is.

“And take my truck,” he orders.

I roll my eyes but don’t fight him. After he heard my brakes he started making me use his Chevy. He got me an appointment with his mechanic for later this week.

Besides, driving his truck is fun. My dad has one a lot like it and he never let me drive it. I also like what it says about how Noah feels about me. I mean, aren’t men supposedly notoriously protective of their vehicles? I like that he trusts me with it.

My eyes move to my house before I pull away. Being the last house on a dead end street gives the illusion that my house isn’t in a city. It’s not downtown or anything but there is still a great selection of restaurants. I drive to a burger place and order easily for both of us. It’s crazy, I’ve known Noah less than a month but I already know so much about him, if knowing what someone would order from multiple places counts.

When I get back to the house with our food, I’m pleasantly surprised to see Abby’s car. She’s checking out the hole in my ceiling when I come in.

“Hey Finley,” she greets, walking over to hug me.

“Hi Abby.” I give her a one armed hug. “I wish I knew you were coming. I would have gotten you something too,” I add, lifting the food bag as explanation.

She shrugs. “I ate before I came and,” she gestures to her jogging shorts and t-shirt. “I’ve come to work.”

The couple of times that I’ve seen her she has always been dressed to the nines. Now here she is in workout clothes, her long light brown hair up in a messy bun, to help me. My mouth falls open and my nose starts stinging for some reason. “Really?”

She grins. “You guys eat while I check out all the work you’ve done.”

After Noah and my first dinner, I moved the bistro table and chairs into the house. Luckily, I set it up in one of the front rooms. Noah and I both settle around it.

“It’s amazing how much better this place already looks, apart from the giant hole in the ceiling,” Abby says as she explores. “Especially the front yard.” Then she tilts her head toward Noah and asks. “Did Gideon clear it?”

Noah sets his burger down and leans back in his chair. “You know he gave me the stuff to do it.”

She shrugs and then looks at me. “If he ever sees this place in person he’s going to want to do your landscaping.”

I have to cover my mouth to hurriedly finish my bite before I ask, “Why?”

“He loves these old houses.”

“Who doesn’t?” Noah queries.

Noah has made it clear he enjoys working on historic homes.

“It must run in the family,” I say.

He surprises me by reaching across the table to smooth the pad of his thumb across the corner of my mouth. “Mustard,” he says, showing me his thumb. “And, I love them more.”

He then shocks the hell out of me by bringing his thumb to his mouth and licking my mustard from it.

Holy crap, he just licked my mustard.

“You okay?” He asks, breaking my trance.

He caught me staring at his mouth.

Nodding, I gulp then grab my napkin to dab at my mouth in case he didn’t get it all. I don’t respond verbally to Noah’s words, other than the bloom of warmth within my chest.

Abby grins at both of us before walking over to one of the piles of wood flooring. “Love this shade. These will look amazing once they’re installed.”

“Thank you,” I beam.

Once Noah and I are finished eating, the three of us get to work. It’s clear that Abby is no slouch when it comes to hanging drywall. I end up helping her by holding up pieces for her to screw in while Noah tackles the guest bath.

Each time he lumbers down the stairs with a load of debris I cringe. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“Nope, I’ve got this,” he replies.

Two hours later almost all the drywall for the back half of the house, minus the ceilings, is up and Noah has gutted the upstairs bathroom.

“We’ll start the front rooms tomorrow,” Noah suggests.

The progress is good but since it hurts like hell to lift my arms, I’m not looking forward to more work.

Abby gives me a limp hug. “You two have fun with that. I’m going home to take a long hot bath.”

I sag. “I would kill for a bath.”

Abby gets a mischievous look in her eyes before saying, “Noah has this incredible soaking tub at his house.” She smacks his arm. “You should let Finley use it some time.”

I’ve been out of high school for close to two decades but that does not stop me from blushing at her suggestion.

I lift my hands, “Oh, no, no, no. I’m fine. Really.”

Noah stares at me, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t mind.”

A toilet crashed through my ceiling today, now I pray for an anvil to do the same and put me out of my misery.

When I don’t reply, Noah continues. “No arguments, you’re coming home with me tonight.”

“No, I’m not,” I grumble.

“Yes, you are,” he argues. “You’re going to take a bath and sleep in a real bed tonight.”

Abby’s gaze moves back and forth between us like a spectator watching a tennis match.

“I appreciate the gesture but it’s unnecessary. I’m perfectly fine here.”

“I know you’re fine here, but there’s nothing wrong with accepting help when it’s offered,” he counters.

I fling my hands out to the sides. “What do you call all of this?” I gesture to the room around us. “You’ve already done too much. I already feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Are we friends?”

I frown. That wasn’t a fair question to ask. I liked him. Even when I was in stranger danger mode I liked him. He’s annoyingly stubborn but it’s hard to hold that against him when what he’s been so stubborn about was helping me.

When I left Texas, I did it mainly friendless. See, when I found out the people I thought were my friends knew my husband was cheating on me, they stopped being my friends.

I didn’t plan on making new ones here. My ability to trust anyone outside my family was broken, or so I thought. Abby is a sweetheart, but it’s Noah who day after day is slowly earning my trust. We are friends or at least I hoped we are.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He nods. “So pack a bag.”

Abby moves closer to me and pats my arm. “He’s right you know. A night away from here would be good for you.”

Great, two against one.

My eyes lock with Noah’s blue ones. “Are you sure about this?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

I pull in a deep breath, and then nod.

“I’m going to take off,” Abby says, giving me a sympathetic smile.

Noah loads his equipment back into his trailer while I pack a bag. I don’t have much but whatever valuables I do have, I pack up along with everything I’ll need for the night.

“I’m ready,” I reply, after locking up.

He comes over to me, taking my duffle bag from me. “Don’t sound so excited.”

“I don’t mean to be difficult when you’re being so nice,” I reply, annoyed at myself.

He loads my duffle into the back of the trailer before closing and securing its doors. I watch as he reattaches the trailer to the hitch of his truck.

It’s like watching him hang drywall all over again. There’s no wasted movement. He is so methodical and controlled in his motions. It would have easily taken me twice as long to do it.

“You’re good with your hands,” I blurt.

When the implication of my words sinks in, my eyes widen. “I mean you’re good at the things that you do.”

He grins. “Yes, I am.”

I decide to keep my mouth shut for the foreseeable future to avoid saying anything else stupid.

Since I’m bone tired, he offers to drive, promising it’ll be no big deal to swing me back here in the morning. I don’t care enough to argue. On the drive over to his house, my curiosity builds. I’m more excited than I care to admit that I’m going to get to see Noah’s place. Especially since this visit was a spur of the moment one.

When you know company is coming, you have time to clean up and hide your vibrators, or whatever stuff a guy would hide. This is going to be seeing a side of Noah I’ve never seen before.

I hope he’s tidy. He doesn’t have to be a neat freak or anything. Still, you can tell a lot about a person by the things they surround themselves with. On second thought, maybe I need his place to be a turn off. Yes, that would be better for my mental health.

When we get to his place he backs his truck and trailer into a garage.

One look around his garage and I’m fairly confident his house won’t be messy.

“This is the cleanest garage I’ve ever seen,” I turn in a circle once I’m out of the cab of the truck, looking around.

He smiles. “My tools are my livelihood. I take care of them.”

A thrill races up my spine at the thought of being taken care of by a man like Noah Thompson.