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I clear my throat, trying to remember how to speak properly. I smile, hoping I don’t look as flushed and nervous as I feel as I answer him. “All grown up.”

2

DYLAN

“Harry?” I ask, holding the phone up to my ear.

He’s one of my oldest and closest friends, but that doesn’t mean we speak a lot. I don’t speak a lot to anyone, especially since I moved over here ten years ago. I don’t miss the hustle and bustle of the city at all. These quiet, peaceful hills fill a space inside me that my birthplace never could.

“Dylan, good to know you’re alive, man,” Harry jokes over the phone, and I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.

“What do you need?”

“Grumpy as ever I see,” Harry says, used to my gruff directness. “You still in that tiny town in Scotland?”

“Yes.” Why is he asking? I frown, pushing my hair away from my face and stepping out of the garage into the sun. I’m covered in sawdust, and if he’s going to insist on a conversation, I may as well get some fresh air while I deal with it.

“Well, you’ll never guess why I’m asking,” Harry continues, and I grunt in answer. “Dahlia bought a house out there, an old cottage that needs a hell of a lot of work. She wants to renovate it.”

“Dahlia?” I ask, standing up straighter. “Your kid sister?”

“The very one. Though she’d kill me if she heard me calling her a kid now.” He laughs. “Apparently being twenty-one means she knows everything about life.”

My mind reels. Harry’s sister is nearly twenty years younger than us, and he’d been shocked when he became a brother at seventeen. Given how close he and I were, I was around a lot when she was born. But Christ… When I left, she was some shy little bookish kid with pink glasses who barely came out of her room. She must’ve been…what…eleven?

“Jesus, it’s been a while,” I mutter, coming to terms with the little girl from my memory being old enough to buy a damn house. As a matter of fact… “Why the fuck did she buy a house over here?”

“Hell if I know, man, but I’m trying to be supportive here. She wants to have an adventure or find herself or whatever.”

“Isn’t that what college is for?”

“She outright rejected the mere idea of college.” Harry snorts. “Smarter than me by a fucking long shot, but nope, Dahlia decided flying across the world to some shitty little house was a better idea. Whatever. Anyway, look, that's why I’m calling.”

I get the sense he’s about to ask me for a favor. I can practically picture my friend shaking his head and sighing at the idea of his little sister taking such a big leap. He always was protective over her, and I can’t help the smirk pulling at my lips at the knowledge that his kid sister has got him too stressed out. Serves him right for all the pranks he pulled on her growing up.

“She needs a contractor, mate.”

And there it is. Fucking hell, I should’ve guessed that’s what he wanted. “Harry—”

“Please, Dylan? Look, she wants to do this and she’s excited about it. But fuck, the girl knows nothing about renovating houses,” Harry presses, voice pleading. “And it’s not like I can drop everything and move over there to help her.”

“But I’m already here,” I summarize, following his logic. I sigh heavily, running my hand over my beard. “I’m not a babysitter.”

“She’ll pay you obviously.”

“I’m busy,” I tell him, leaning against the side of the garage. “With clients that booked properly in advance.”

“Please? Do it for me, man?”

Shit. As much as I would never tell him because he’d lord it over my head until the end of time, Dylan is important to me. We grew up together, and even when I left LA, he supported me. He’s even been to visit a few times, purely to give me a hard time about being a “caveman.”

“Fucking hell. Fine,” I say, exasperated. “I’ll go see the house, but I’m not making any promises, okay?”

“Thank you,” Harry says, clearly relieved. “It makes me feel better knowing you’ll be keeping an eye on her, making sure she’s safe—”

“Not. A. Babysitter,” I repeat to the sound of Harry’s laughter, and then I hang up.

He’s lucky I consider him a friend because god, does he know how to push my fucking buttons. Seconds later, my phone pings with an incoming text from Harry, containing an address and the time she’s due to arrive.

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