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I take a breath and force my bunched shoulders down. “Is that an apology?”
She visibly bristles. “Are you going to apologize for being a dick?”
“No, but you might as well consider yourself checked in early.”
There.
I feel like a saint as I stomp out of the kitchen, at least until I smell her perfume or whatever it is. Yuzu, sage, and cloves. Delicious.
Fuck me. My stomach is at it again.
Slamming the door behind me, I hurry to my own place—where a much crappier breakfast awaits.
Chapter Three
Brooklyn
As the asshole passes by me, my nose detects starfruit, ocean salt, and wax. Hmm. When combined with the way he looks, the last two scents make me think he might be a surfer in his spare time.
But aren’t surfers more chill? His personality is what most people think pit bulls are like, and Chihuahuas—though those unfair dog stereotypes are breedist.
“Wait, you forgot your tools!” I shout, but he doesn’t hear me.
Great. This means I’ll probably have to see him again.
I drag in a calming breath and finish the last of his breakfast, since I might as well. When the food is gone, I swallow my last Advil and walk out onto the screened porch to examine the giant pool facing the lake.
Wow.
Even if I weren’t minutes away from the beach, this vacation would still be amazing.
Maybe I can actually relax for the first time in seven years?
I plop on a nearby chaise, but instead of relaxing, my mind starts replaying the interaction with the hot plumber, and I wonder if I overreacted. Maybe some period-induced irritability?
Oh, well. At least I have my hormones as an excuse. What is his?
Suddenly, an annoying noise reaches my ears. It’s a loud buzzing that reminds me of a giant vacuum cleaner from hell.
Speaking of hell, why am I smelling sulfur?
I scan my surroundings. There’s a sprinkler running on the right side of the lawn, but those aren’t that loud.
Then I see where the noise is coming from. The plumber is riding some hellish machine over the grass, still shirtless.
He’s either cutting the grass or filming an ad for said machine—and I suddenly feel like buying one.
I guess he’s more than just a plumber.
“Hey!” I shout.
No reaction.
“Dude!”
Nope. He’s got headphones on, so between that and the noise, I doubt he can hear himself think… assuming he ever engages in that activity.
I open the door of the porch screen and wave my arms.
