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My voice wobbled.
I sniffed.
His eyes went a little panicky. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not,” I said.
Except I was lying, because there were tears, and they were slipping down my face. I swiped the back of my hand over my cheeks to erase the evidence. Burke eyed me warily.
I wanted to hug him. Very badly.
He’d give such good hugs. There was no otheroptionthan for him to give good hugs. Not with the size of his arms and the breadth of his chest. The sheer height and size of him. It would be warm and all encompassing, the kind of hug that was lingering happiness all the way down to your toes. And if I tried, I had the distinct feeling he’d bolt.
And that was the absolute last thing I wanted from Burke Barrett.
I took a tentative step forward, and he sucked in a breath when I held out my hand.
“Truce?” I said.
His palm engulfed mine. It was warm, just like his arm had been. Strong and confident and calloused.
“Truce,” he agreed.
I didn’t immediately release his hand, and he didn’t immediately release mine. It had my stomach doing backflips.
The loud squawk of a seagull overhead had us blinking out of the handshake. My fingers were trembling when I crossed my arms over my chest.
“So ... still no builder.”
He nodded, his eyes aimed down at the ground. “Any more names on your magic list?”
I smiled. “I have a guy I can call. William is a referral from one of the builders yesterday. He’s based out of Chicago, but he’s willing to travel, and he specializes in houses of the mid- to late 1800s. I’d never heard of him. He has no social media presence, no website. Works completely on word of mouth and referrals, which means he’s good.”
Burke’s eyes briefly locked on mine, and then he glanced back at the house. “Good.”
“I’ll let you know when he can come for an interview.”
He scratched the side of his face. “I, uh, have to go back to Florida tomorrow.”
Right.
I schooled the expression on my face when our gazes met again, managing a polite nod. “Okay.”
“You feel okay being alone here after that?” he asked.
I blew out a breath and stared off in the direction in which Mack had disappeared. “I think so,” I said slowly. “Mack doesn’t know you’re leaving, so ...”
He clenched his jaw, giving a short nod.
“And I’ll sleep with the crowbar, I promise.”
Burke scratched the back of his neck. “I’d stay, but ... my nephew has a thing. And I promised I’d be there.”
“The nine-year-old nephew who could make a beautiful vintage lamp in art class?”
He exhaled a laugh. “Yeah.”
“I bet he loves having you around,” I said. It was a good reminder, despite our tentative new truce, that Burke had no real desire to be here.
