Page 38 of Nailed

“Thanks,” I said, swallowing hard. “You have no idea how much I appreciate everything you’ve been doing.”

“Hey, I take pride in my work. And I also don’t like seeing innocent people get targeted for something they didn’t do,” she said.

“Well, you’ve definitely earned your Guardian Angel title,” I said, jerking my head in the direction of my kitchen. “I owe you for this. Cup of coffee?”

“Sure,” she said with a smile, following me as we made our way further into the firehouse.

“I’ll be owing you a bigger favor than the coffee, by the way. I just want to make that clear,” I said.

“If you feel that strongly about it, just add me to the guest list for your housewarming party,” she said with a wink.

I laughed. “Trust me, you were already on the very, very minuscule list.”

She made a sound of contentment as we walked on. The place was currently in a perpetual state of disordered chaos, the renovation timeline now firmly put on hold until the bureaucratic mess got sorted out. Clara looked around not in judgment, but interest.

“I mean, those Cornerstone workers still managed to get a lot done in just a few months,” she said, sounding impressed. “The second you get clearance, you’ll probably have this place fixed up and livable before the end of the year.”

“Fingers crossed,” I said.

“You know, Lauren, I realize that you might not have anyone else to depend on really, being new to the city and all, and I just want you to know that—” her words were immediately cut off as we walked into the kitchen.

It took me a second to realize what had her so frazzled until it hit me that I’d gotten so used to the three men working on my house 24/7, that the sight of them in their element had lost some of its original shock value.

They were each wrapped up in a minor task that, while ultimately trivial, still required a level of focus. Callum was meticulously removing layers of old paint from rows of detached brass doorknobs, his strong hands and long fingers working with intent.

Rafe was on a rolling scaffold, cleaning and greasing the heavy iron tracks of the sliding door that was set up to be a room divider between my kitchen and living area. His muscles tensed with every stretch, deliciously visible through his paint-stained T-shirt.

And on the far end of the same door track was Brock, trying to realign one of the heavy wooden doors on said track all by himself, though even I could tell it was a two-man job. But seeing him handle the heavy slab of wood with ease was enough to dissuade my concerns easily enough.

Clara stared at them, her mouth shamelessly hanging open. I grinned and reached a hand out under her chin to gently close it for her.

I got it though. Shock value or not, these three men were drop–dead gorgeous to say the very least, and watching them get their hands dirty?

Now that was the type of sight that could kill a weak-hearted grandma in minutes.

Clara turned to look at me with huge eyes. Oh my god, she mouthed silently.

“Yeah,” is all I said.

“Well,” She adjusted the lapels of her jacket. “I suppose I was mistaken. You seem to have quite…adequate company.”

My brain itched with the temptation to tell her the truth about that company. But I didn’t know her well enough, and even if I did, would I seriously tell anyone that I was insanely attracted to the renovation crew I’d hired, and that I’d fucked them two for three already?

Probably not.

In the corner of my eye, I could see Brock’s head turn towards me and Clara, evidently distracted by our sudden walk-in.

“They do their jobs well,” I said simply. He shifted, turning his attention back to the door and hoisting it up. “How do you take your coffee?”

But Clara didn’t even get the chance to tell me. I saw Rafe’s body react even before I heard the pop of the door jumping the track. It was so heavy that it immediately began to tilt, catching Brock at an awkward point of balance. He was going to get crushed between the door and the brick wall.

Or at least he would’ve, if not for Rafe. He vaulted off the scaffold in what felt like a fraction of a second and used his shoulder to brace against the door’s weight, shoving it back towards the track.

“Move!” he yelled at Brock, who very quickly slipped out of the danger zone. Once they were both clear, Rafe immediately grabbed a crowbar and helped Brock lever the door back into place.

“Lauren. You’re cutting off circulation to my arm,” Clara whispered, and I let go.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered back, my heart still thundering in my chest,