Page 12 of Oops I Fell For The Lumberjack Next Door

"Yep."

"She already has us married."

"She had us married before she walked in."

I hand him another instant coffee. He takes it without complaint. Our eyes meet over the mugs, and he holds the gaze for a beat too long. I look away first.

He finishes the floor by noon. New boards, sanded smooth, sealed with something he brought from his barn that smells like linseed oil. The bedroom is transformed. Solid underfoot for the first time since I moved in.

"Thank you." I mean it this time. Fully. Without the grudge stitched through it.

"You're welcome." He's packing up tools, kneeling to gather screws into a pouch. I crouch to help, grabbing the measuring tape that's rolled under the new baseboard.

We reach for it at the same time.

His hand closes over mine. Warm, rough, calloused. My breath catches. Just stops. His fingers tighten. Not pulling away, not pushing forward. Just holding.

I look up. He's right there. Inches. Those blue eyes with the gold flecks near the center that I never noticed in college because I was too busy hating him to look closely. Sawdust on his cheekbone. The pencil still behind his ear. His gaze drops to my mouth, and everything in my body goes hot.

He's going to kiss me. I can feel it in the tension of his hand over mine, in his breathing gone shallow, in the absolute stillness of a man who's been patient for fifteen years and is running out of reasons to keep being patient.

And I want him to. God help me, I want him to.

Princess Buttercup yowls from the kitchen. Loud, demanding, ear splitting.

We pull apart. Both of us. Fast. His hand drops. Mine pulls back to my lap. He stands, grabs the tool pouch, and takes a step toward the door.

"I should let you get to work."

"Right. The manuscript." My voice is doing something embarrassing. Breathy. High. I clear my throat. "Thank you. For the floor."

"Eight bucks at the hardware store." He's already in the hallway. "The premium ones."

And then he's gone. Side door closing behind him. Tinsel barking once in greeting as they cross back through the trees.

I sit on my new bedroom floor. Solid, warm wood under my palms. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.

Briggs Holloway almost kissed me.

And I almost let him.

I pull out my phone. Open the contact for my best friend Layla in Portland.

Me:

I need you to talk me out of something.

Layla:

Ooh. Scale of 1 to 10 how bad?

Me:

Remember the guy from college I told you about? Ryan's roommate? The one who destroyed my relationship?

Layla:

Briggs something? The villain of every drunk rant you've given for the past decade?