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An address that’s right near my own home. What are the fucking chances of my best friend’s little sister moving to not just the same country or area but the same damn village as me?
I have a couple of hours before I have to deal with this inconvenience, so I do what I do best until then—throw myself into my work and shut the rest of the world out.
* * *
Time passes quickly,and when I glance up at the clock, I curse. Harry’s sister will be here by now, and I’d rather get this over and done with.
Sighing, I set my tools down and grimace at my clothes. They’re work clothes so I don’t bother keeping them nice, but they’re full of holes and covered in sawdust from the work I’ve been doing. Quickly, I close and lock the garage before heading into the house, chucking my clothes in the laundry basket and tugging on a pair of jeans and a red flannel before shoving my feet into my boots. There’s no point taking the car, not when the address Harry sent is just on the outskirts of town.
I just need to go there, tell Dahlia I’m busy and that I’m not making any promises, report back to Harry that his sister has indeed arrived in one piece, and then get back to my normal life. I meant what I said to Harry. I’m not wasting my time watching out for some kid who decided to take on a project she has no experience with.
In reality, I bet Dahlia will get a few days into renovating, realize that it’s actually hard work and not just some holiday, and then fly home to her family again. Not my fucking problem.
I pass a few others on the way toward the dirt track that leads to the old cottage, one I’ve walked past a few times on my hikes, and they offer me polite smiles that I mostly ignore. It’s not that I’m a total asshole to everyone else in town, but I like my space and have no interest in small talk.
Rocks crunch under my soles as I walk up the dirt path, taking in the huge trees that stretch over the track and the overgrown grass and weeds that line each side. That wild, overgrown greenery continues right up to the front of the cottage, making the place feel even more derelict than it is.
The cottage itself has quite clearly spent a long time unloved and left to rot. The white exterior is peeling away and will need to be redone. The roof is missing tiles, and the gutters are filled with moss and dirt. The windows are covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of dust. Despite its neglect, it holds a certain…charm. A potential that got cogs turning in my brain.
It needs a fuck load of work, though. And there is no way in hell that this little girl is going to get it done.
I shake my head, a little mad at the fact this cottage is going to go even more to waste because of Harry’s little sister, and shove my hands into my pockets. There’s a stack of suitcases and bags by the door, left outside with no regard for safety, and the front door is wide open. For fuck’s sake. Is this girl really so naive?
I sigh heavily and take the final steps up to the door, nettles and thistles crumpling beneath my boots as I try to flatten out an actual path.
I raise a hand to knock against the doorframe, waiting a few seconds for an answer that doesn’t come.
“Hello?” I shout instead. I’m going to have to call Harry and get him to come over to drag his sister back home—
“Coming!” a feminine voice calls back, followed by the thundering of footsteps on the creaking staircase.
The woman nearly falls down the last stair, feet scuffling on the floor as she comes to a stop.
Holy shit. There’s no fucking way this is Harry’s little sister.
“Oh my god,” she says, stumbling over the words as her wide eyes land on me. Wide green eyes that match the overgrowth around the house nearly perfectly. Her lips part in what looks like surprise, and I can’t fucking help but notice how plush and soft they are.
“Dahlia?” I ask, sure there’s been some sort of mix-up.
This is not the shy, dorky eleven-year-old I knew. This is absolutely not Harry’s sister. It can’t be. My face morphs into a frown as I analyze her, looking her up and down. Fucking hell, her body…curvy and soft. She must be a foot shorter than me, and she has to tip her head back to look me in the face, stretching her neck in a way that makes me want to run my lips over her fluttering pulse—
Fuck. No.No.
“That’s me,” she answers, her freckled cheeks turning pink.
“Jesus,” I mutter, stunned fucking senseless.
I have half a mind to ask her if she’s sure that’s who she really is, but I catch myself, instead murmuring, “Last time I saw you, you were…” I run my hand through my hair, tugging at it as I try to get a fucking grip. “Now you’re…”Beautiful. Stunning. Fucking delicious.
She clears her throat, bouncing on her heels a little. I rip my eyes away before I can notice the way the movement makes her chest bounce.Get a grip, Dylan, get a fucking grip.But my body doesn’t give a shit what my brain is begging for because my cock is focused on how utterly gorgeous she is.
“All grown up,” Dahlia chirps, and I swallow my groan.
Yeah, she’s definitely not Harry’s kid sister anymore.
And I’m absolutely fucked.
3
