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Wren York is a client.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
CHAPTERFOUR
The day has arrived. After months of waiting and years of planning, I’ll sleep in my own home. It finally feels real.
To stay out of the way, I squeeze my stomach and rise to the balls of my feet, holding the door open while four burly men pass into the foyer. Each one nods courteously as they file into my grandfather’s house and head upstairs into my bedroom. The housekeeper, Mrs. Finn, discreetly offers to direct the men to each room, but I shake my head and assure her I can handle this myself.
After closing the door, I march upstairs to offer my assistance. The movers know what to do. The last thing I want is to get in their way, but I want to ensure they follow my instructions and start with the Tiffany lamps I inherited from my Great-Aunt Rebecca. They’re priceless heirlooms over a hundred years old, and I want them handled with care.
I reach the second landing and spot three men dismantling my antique bed and bureau. Before they arrived, I took the initiative to wrap the items in stretch wrap to prevent any nicking, but they’ve unraveled both and discarded the plastic.
“Excuse me?” I interrupt their work by clearing my throat and raising my arm to get their attention. “I’d prefer you begin with the lamps. I’ve left boxes and packing materials for each.”
The men acknowledge my presence but continue to work, organizing parts and wrapping slabs of highly polished, hand-carved mahogany wood in quilted packing blankets, securing each with adjustable straps. I appreciate their attention to detail, but I’m still confused why my antique Louis XVI bed frame, a gift from my grandmother, is scattered across my bedroom floor.
Ford enters the room behind me, clutching his clipboard and scribbling notes on the list I provided. “We start with the heavier items first to place them at the back of the truck. More fragile items are corralled in the front to prevent damage.”
I stare at the mess and sigh. “W—?”
He cuts me off, replying almost before I finish the question. “I apologize for undoing your work, but we had to take those pieces apart.”
“Do you have to? Both pieces are antiques, and I’m not sure I know how I’ll put them back together.” My voice quivers with a lack of confidence as I stand in his looming presence. Ford’s an older man, twice my size, with a beard and tattoos. He’s masculine and rugged with a gruff exterior. He doesn’t look like anyone I know, but something about him intrigues me. He makes me feel like a damsel in distress waiting for her knight in shining armor to save her from a fate worse than death.
I need to stop reading so many books.
“There’s no way to get it through the doorway unless we take it apart.” His full lips tip into a warm smile as he points to the door behind me. “But don’t worry. We’ll reassemble everything when we get there.”
I peer over my shoulder, then shift my gaze toward the bureau and disassembled bed, mentally sizing the height, width, and depth of each one. Ford’s right. I’m unsure why I didn’t think of that before, but I’m not used to working with my hands. No matter how smart I believe I am, some practical things tend to fly straight over my head.
I nod, pursing my lips with resignation. “You’re right. Do you want me to pack the lamps while you carry the frame and mattresses downstairs?”
“The best thing you can do is wait downstairs while we work. I promise I’ll review your list before we head to the second location.” Ford escorts me into the hallway. While we glide toward the landing, his massive arm hovers an inch above my shoulders as if he came close to pulling me into his protective embrace but made a last-minute correction.
My imagination is working overtime.
“But... but—” I make a pathetic attempt of protesting his banishment, but his steely gaze makes me lose my train of thought.
His chiseled face, dark hair, and sculpted physique give him a hint of danger, like a bad boy who’s cleaned up his act. The gray hair dusting his temples and beard make him look distinguished.
Ford is all man.
“I know you’re worried about your things. I’m the same way. But we’re going to be carrying heavy items up and down these stairs, and I don’t want you to get hurt,” he whispers, his voice so deep and gravelly it vibrates into my flesh and makes me weak in the knees.
“Are you sure? A few more things in the guest room still need to be packed. I can help. I want to help," I say, wiggling toward the other side of the hallway. I’m not the kind of girl who enjoys sitting around while other people do her work. There’s no way I can carry boxes downstairs or haul anything in my tiny car, but I can still do something.
Ford blocks my path and holds out his palm to stop me. “If you’d like to do something, take your list and check things off after we haul them downstairs.” He hands me the list I provided earlier, patronizing me with a smile.
My brows crease with instant vexation. I don’t like being treated like a child. Ford Shaw might be in charge of the move, but I have a right to be concerned. The furniture they’re moving is irreplaceable.
“No, thank you.” I hold my hands at my hips and crane my neck to look the giant man in the eye. “Let me bring a few boxes into the hall, then I’ll get out of your way. Sorry, I’m bugging you, but—”
Ford cuts me off again. “You’re not bugging me. I want you safe. I don’t want you to get caught in a blind spot and accidentally pinned to the wall. Will you wait for me downstairs?” He walks past me into the guest room and returns with three boxes stacked past his head. He carries them effortlessly, showing no signs of straining as he deposits them downstairs by the door. I can’t see his face but practically drool at the sight of the rippling muscles bulging through his t-shirt.
I bite my bottom lip and avert my eyes, silently scolding myself for treating him like a piece of meat. He's here to provide a service, and I'm one step short of catcalling him.
He quickly turns and marches back, his arms flexed like he’s taking a leisurely jog. His breath remains steady, utterly unaffected by the climb. With his eyes fixed on me, he offers his hand and leads me halfway down. “We’ll be done soon. I promise.”
