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“I’m serious.” I stand, jabbing a thumb back at the garage. “I need someone small enough to fit under there.”
“You have other workers.”
“Not right now.”
She regards me for a moment and I think she’s going to say no. Hell, I wouldn’t blame her. She knows I have a lift. I don’t need someone smaller than me.
“Fine. But I’m not finishing the mopping until tomorrow. It’ll probably need it again, anyway.”
I hold out my hand to her and she stares at my fingers as if they might bite her.
Finally, her palm slips into mine and I haul her off the dock, forcing myself to take a step back from her when she’s on her feet. I force myself to ignore the dull ache in my chest and Iforcemy eyes not to follow the sway of her hips when we walk back into the shop.
Fuck, I force myself not to breathe because the scent of her perfume has been burned into my brain for the last week.
Yeah, Hannah Gaines is going to be a real fucking problem.
I’m a fucking idiot.
That much is evident when Hannah’s on her hands and knees in front of me, head under the car, and that glorious ass in the air.
“I can’t reach,” she grumbles under her breath, rolling over so her back is on the creeper.
Thank fuck.
Asking her to stay and help was a mistake. It’s hard enough to ignore her presence when she’s under my roof. It’s a completely different animal when she’s right under my goddamned nose.
I don’t need the help. She knows it. I could’ve just as easily put the car up on a lift or dealt with it tomorrow, but something in me didn’t like that idea.
Not nearly as much as having her in my fucking space.
“So, what? You just run your mother’s charity and that’s it?”
Hannah’s quiet under the car, taking the wrench when I hand it to her. Icouldraise the car up for her a bit. I mean the jack’s right there, but watching her work like this is better. Keeps me from getting too close to her. Keepsherand that pretty smile under the car.
That is, if she still smiled at me.
“Hey, it’s busier than you think . . . sometimes.”
“I’m surprised she let you leave the house.”
She shrugs. “She doesn’t have much choice now. I’m twenty-three.”
Fuck, where has the time gone? I’m going to be thirty this year and yet, I feel like I’ve barely got shit figured out. I can pay my bills. I can buy groceries. Taxes? Retirement? No fucking idea.
“Can I be honest?”
“Aren’t you always?”
She ignores me, letting out a deep breath.
“I lied to her to come here. She thinks I’m in Africa, helping build a school. Does that . . . make me a bad person?”
“A bad person? No.”
She rolls out enough to stare at me. “I didn’t come back here foryou, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“I wasn’t aware I was insinuating anything,” I murmur, though there’s a bitter edge to my voice I fucking despise.
