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Her body flexed with each scrape. The scent of her—a mix of sweat, steam, and something undeniably Elara—filled my nostrils, making it impossible to focus on anything else. When I found myself watching the beads of sweat trickling down between her breasts, I knew I was in dangerous territory.
"Thanks," she said breathlessly, finally dislodging the last piece of wallpaper. She flashed me a smile that made my heart stutter in my chest.
"Uh, no problem," I stammered, quickly backing away from her before I lost control. "I should get back to the floor."
"Right," she agreed, her eyes still locked on mine. "The floor."
With great effort, I managed to tear my gaze away from her and returned to my work. Somehow, I controlled myself for the rest of the morning, focusing on the task at hand and keeping my mind off the insane chemistry between us.
Over our lunch break, we kept the conversation purposefully light. We talked about the weather. We talked about our sandwiches. We talked about the floorboards.
"Whoever buys this place is going to have a gem on their hands," she said, gesturing at the hardwood.
“Yup,” I agreed. As I looked at her sparkling eyes, it was hard not to think that the real gem was her.
After lunch, I gave Elara a bunch of other jobs that involved working in different rooms to me. Finally, mercifully, we reached the end of our workday. As we prepared to part ways, I extended my hand for a brisk, professional handshake. "Solid day's work, Elara. Well done."
"And we managed not to kiss each other," she added with a sly smile, her fingers gripping mine just a little too tightly.
For a moment, desire swelled in me. It would have been so damn easy to tug her toward me and crush my lips against hers. To forget about being sensible and run my rough hands up her slick body, to rip off that taunting sports bra and roll her hard nipples between my fingers. To push myself against her, into her, and show her just what she was doing to me.
But I didn't.
Instead, I released her hand and stepped back, putting a safe distance between us.
“Right. I guess Anthony will be waiting for me,” she murmured, a wistful note in her voice as she turned to go. "See you tomorrow, Cole."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
Something told me that tomorrow would be even harder than today.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Elara
Finally, I’d peeled back enough layers. It was time to replace them with something new.
I stood in the middle of Peach & Tree, a charming little hardware store on the main street, surrounded by paint cans, brushes, and color swatches. Two grueling days of steaming and scraping had left the walls of the bar in a patchy mess, and now I needed something to make the place sing.
As I browsed the store's impressive paint selection, a tiny part of me couldn't help but imagine what the bar might look like if I decorated it the way I wanted, instead of just cleaning it up to sell. Pastel pinks, cool pistachio greens, white butcher store tiles behind the counter, natural wooden floors . . . maybe even a chandelier or some art-deco light fixtures. But I quickly snapped myself out of it. "Focus, Elara," I muttered. A buyer would want neutral colors, not my questionable taste all over the walls. "Stick to the whites."
The shop was surprisingly well-stocked. Every inch of the shelves was meticulously organized, showcasing an array of paint cans in every shade imaginable.
And yes, that meant plenty of whites.
Just as I was trying to convince myself there was an actual difference between Eggshell White and Antique Lace, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was an unfamiliar number. "Hello?"
"Elara O'Neil?" It was a friendly-sounding female voice, with the faintest trace of a French accent. "This is the Pierre Trouffant Pastry School in New York."
My stomach flipped. This was the call I'd been waiting for. "Y-yes, that's me," I stammered, trying to sound like my heart wasn’t galloping like a racehorse.
"Congratulations, Miss O'Neil. Your initial application has been accepted."
"Really?" I squealed, unable to contain my joy. "That's such good news!"
"Next will be your in-person interview and technical assessment. Can we schedule that now? We have a space in two weeks."
"Two weeks is fine," I confirmed, doing math in my head. I'd need to get the train there, and I’d probably have to book an Airbnb for two nights. Somewhere that would let me take Anthony. That was all doable. My heart pounded with excitement and nerves. "What should I expect during the interview?"
