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It was awful, how some invisible being wrapped a giant, massive hand around my midsection and squeezed. My lungs pressed hard, trying to pull in enough air.
Ian glanced between me and his brother, dark eyebrows raised. “Okay then.”
Cameron’s jaw worked back and forth, and I held my breath, wondering if he’d push the issue with an audience.
Then he held his hand out, and I exhaled quietly.
“Cameron Wilder. I’m the owner of Wilder Homes.”
It was a fucking miracle that my hands didn’t shake as I slid my palm over his. The rough catch of his skin on mine caused a fractured burst of heat through my ice-cold insides, which I ignored.
Ignored everything tapping ominously on the periphery of this interaction.
That shit could be dealt with later. Much, much later, and preferably with a giant glass of wine.
“I must have spoken to your sister yesterday?” I asked, slowly pulling my hand out of his. He watched me let it hang loose at my side.
Then he nodded. “Greer typically takes these initial meetings, but her daughter is sick.”
“So this is your place?” Ian asked.
I turned slightly, my attention finally pulled from the inconvenient man in front of me to the inconvenient house that I had to deal with.
“Apparently.”
The men traded a quick look, probably noting the distinct lack of enthusiasm in my voice.
Not that I couldn’t appreciate the potential.
This was not an area for lush emerald lawns. Everything was punctuated by trees reaching to the blue skies, giving the whole area a slightly desolate feel that was foreign from what I was used to seeing in Seattle.
The house was nothing extraordinary—a big two-story farmhouse with a faded appearance and a sagging front porch. The landscaping surrounding it was vastly overgrown, and the yard around the house in the midst of endless, tall trees was unkempt and overrun.
But the land … I did enough research on the flight over to know that I could sell it as is and make more than half a million dollars.
“It’s been sitting empty for years,” Cameron said.
“You knew about it?” I asked.
He hummed. “Our parents’ land is just down the road. If you cut through those woods and head west, you’d run into my house after about seven acres or so.”
Oh good, he was the fucking neighbor.
I raised an eyebrow. “Small world,” I muttered.
“Isn’t it, though?” he asked, smile spreading so that I had no choice but to glare at the expanse of straight white teeth and the fucking dimple that appeared to the left of his mouth.
Ian pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as he watched us, and I pulled in a deep breath, mentally grappling for control.
Of anything really.
My thoughts.
My traitorous reaction.
This entire exchange felt like a car careening wildly into oncoming traffic, wheels falling off, brakes failing. I could practically hear the ear-splitting crash of our two worlds colliding.
If a single other builder had been available to meet on short notice, I would have already asked him to leave.
