Page 99 of The Goat Next Door

He doesn’t laugh at me once. He treats my parents’ visit like an emergency response—an operation that needs to be perfectly executed.

There’s something so incredibly erotic about watching him work through this list.

He’s so focused, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, his pencil scratching against the paper.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” I murmur, my voice quiet.

He stops writing, looking at me with an intensity that makes my knees feel weak. “Anything that impacts your peace of mind is serious, Ember. You know that.”

When the list is finally finished, he puts the pencil down and looks at me. The room is quiet, the evening sun casting long, golden shadows across his office.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, and I mean it. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

Brooks looks at me, his gaze lingering on my face. “It’s not a lot to ask, Emmy,” he says. “It’s the perimeter. I’m just helping you secure it.”

I look at him, my breath catching.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. Let’s start with the table.”

“Tomorrow morning, at first light,” he says. “We’ll be there. I’ll bring the drill, the level, and the wood glue.”

He holds the door open for me, his hand brushing my back as I walk out into the cooling air of the evening.

26

Brooks

“Heat does not create tension.

It reveals where it already exists.”

— Field Note

The sun is barely clawing its way over the eastern ridge, but I’ve been up for an hour. I grab my gear, the heavy leather straps biting into my shoulder as I head out into the damp, my boots sinking deep into the grass of Ember’s property.

She’s a total disaster of nervous energy in the kitchen. She looks like a walking catastrophe in those baggy, faded overalls. The sides are completely unbuttoned, hanging low at her hips, and underneath, she’s wearing nothing but a skimpy, neon-yellow bikini top that is doing a pathetic, losing job of containing her.

“Chief,” she says, spinning around. Her hair is pulled into a chaotic, messy bun, and the rising humidity is already making sweat bead and stick to the curve of her neck. “You’re late. They are going to be here in less than eight hours, and this place is still a disaster.”

“I’m right on the dot, Ember,” I say, dumping my heavy tool belt onto the table. “And maybe we start with the actual woodwork before you decide to renovate the entire house in an outfit designed for a goddamn beach club. If someone walks through that front door, the whole county’s going to be buzzing about your slutty little labor wardrobe.”

She puts a hand dramatically against her chest. “Wow. Slutty little labor wardrobe?”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“You make me sound like I’m running an illegal construction-themed brothel.”

I look her up and down slowly. “That outfit is definitely violating several workplace regulations.”

“Oh my God.” She laughs. “You’re impossible.”

“You’ve got both sides of your overalls hanging open.”

“It’s called ventilation, Brooks.”

“It’s called distracting.”

That makes her grin sharpen instantly. “Oh, so now we’re admitting you’re distracted?”