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Only I won’t let my brother stop me.
The place is silent. I expected workers, the guys that were here yesterday. Instead, there’s nothing.
I move forward, heading toward the back. As I approach the door, I hear someone cursing softly to herself. Keely’s voice, sounding frustrated.
I look inside. She’s alone, standing on a stool, trying to screw a shelf into the wall above a long metal work station. The hardware must be going into a concrete block or something, because she’s cursing like crazy and really leaning into it, pushing with all her weight, but getting nowhere.
“You need help?”
She yelps, dropping her screwdriver with a clatter, and begins to teeter.
I move quick. I place the to-go carrier of coffees down on a counter as I lunge toward her, and I’m at her side in a split second, grabbing onto her hips to steady her. She curses some more, eyes wide with fear, hands gripping my wrists. “What the freaking shit are you doing here, Nolan?” she snaps. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“Not my intention,” I say, suppressing a smile. I love the way her body feels under my hands. She’s in tights and a loose t-shirt, her hair tied up, looking like she’s either in for a long day of labor or headed to a yoga session. Either way, she looks fantastic. Simple, but perfect.
The knots in my stomach every time she’s around are a new experience.
“Intention or not, maybe you could try knocking?”
“I don’t knock on my own doors.”
She rolls her eyes. “I forgot you think you own the place.”
“Idoown the place.”
“Semantics.” She pauses, staring hellfire down at me. “Are you going to let me go?”
“I was kind of enjoying this.”
“Nolan.”
“Would you like some coffee?” I still don’t move my hands. I want to pull her down against my chest, but I’m afraid it’d only scare her away.
She glances at the cups. But it only seems to piss her off more. “No, thanks,” she snaps. “Will you let me go now?”
I release her with some serious reluctance. “What are you doing up there?”
“Hanging a shelf.” She flattens her lips, glaring at the protruding screw. “But the little bastard doesn’t want to go in.”
“May I?”
She hesitates but shakes her head. “No, thanks.”
“You do realize accepting help from me isn’t the same as taking my investment.”
“Or wearing your ring?” she says.
I shrug. “That too.”
“You’re unreal.” She gets down off the stool and shoves the screwdriver into my hand. “Go head, big guy. Get on up there so I can push you over. Maybe your neck will break and all my troubles will disappear.”
“I bet you would too,” I say, climbing up. She stands off to the side, glaring hot death. I test the screw, confirming that it’s hitting something hard, and take it back out. “Got to move it.”
“No, it needs to be there.”
“Then I need a drill. A good drill.”
“I don’t have one,” she says, throwing her hands up. “All I want to do is hang a stupid shelf so I can start putting this stupid kitchen together for this stupid donut shop that’s not even going to happen because you’re blackmailing me into marrying you. Why can’t anything be easy?” She’s breathing hard, pacing back and forth.
