Page 13 of Unsteady: How to Fail at Flirting
“That’s what Pete said. Didn’t he tell you?”
I shake my head no. He did bring over a new lease agreement last week, but he said it had been revised; there weren’t many changes. He didn’t say anything about a new owner. But then again, I didn’t read the fine print.
I feel stupid, but I have to ask, “Did he say who the new owner is?”
Riley looks sheepish. “Well, yeah. It’s public record. Everyone knows F. Harris LLC bought it. Otherwise known as Harris Construction of Lake Norman. Big, big bucks coming from Charlotte all the way to our little hamlet. Wild.”
I stare at her, and she interprets this as me being an idiot. “You know, Iris’s boyfriend, Oliver, is a Harris. I just assumed since that Oliver guy is dating your best friend, there might be a connection there.” Riley sort of trails off. “Anyway, I’ve obviously told you something you didn’t know, and I’m gonna go now. See ya!”
That’s…interesting.
I make my way down the street to the building and notice the door is propped open. Out front, there’s an oversized work truck backed up to the sidewalk, and there are sawhorses and saws and wood and tools lying around. I’m assuming this is what it’s going to look like for the next three weeks. People are maneuvering around the work area thanks to the barricades Finn has set up in my section of the block.
I carefully step over a pile of wood and enter the room to the scene. I am completely unprepared for what I find.
This is truly a construction zone. Brick has been exposed. The drywall that used to be here has been removed, and the walls have been gutted to the studs.
Around a corner, I find Finn, shirtless, his tanned upper back gleaming with sweat, nailing boards together with a nail gun. He has a pencil tucked behind one ear, and his jeans sag on his hips under the weight of a seriously slutty tool belt. The waistband of his black underwear peaks out just under the dents in his lower back. My god, the dents. Perfect tiny receptacles for chocolate syrup.
I nearly drop my drink tray along with my panties.
“Knock, knock,” I say. Knock me over with a feather.
He turns to me and gives a quick nod, then turns back to his work. “Good morning,” he says, focused on not shooting a nail through his hand.
I strode in here, prepared to question him about all the information he conveniently left out, but now I am twitching like a cat in heat.
Slowly and carefully, I approach and set down the drink tray on a nearby work table. “You got here early today.”
“I wanted to get a head start,” he says flatly. “Lot of work to do.”
When he leans over to pick up another board, I nearly lose it as I stare at the bunching muscles in his shoulders, traps, and triceps.
So many places to nibble, scratch, and suck.
“Right. I was wondering…”
“Here,” he says, handing me a hard hat to wear.
Grudgingly, I put it on, not sure if I’m doing it right.
“Can you help me with this?” I ask.
He sets down the board he’s just picked up and comes closer to inspect the hard hat. “There’s nothing to it,” he says.
I blink up at him. “I just wanted an excuse to get closer so I could do this.”
I don’t need to come in hot, demanding answers. I can see that I was right the first time. Finn is a good and honest man. Even if he leaves out certain details about our arrangement.
“Do what?”
My hand reaches for his but misses, and instead I’m touching his forearm. That veiny, hard, strong forearm, slightly damp from already fitting in more physical labor before coffee than I’m comfortable with. “Say thank you.”
“For what?”
I shake my head. “I read over my new lease agreement, finally. I looked at the fine print. F Harris LLC? Rent is one dollar a month? Are you out of your mind?”
“It can’t be free, so that’s the best I can do,” he says. “Some state law or something.”
