Page 55 of When We Were Young

He hands me his clipboard, then steps closer to the dumpster, lifts the booth up, and flips it into the dumpster as if it weighs nothing.

A thank-you would be appropriate, but I don’t have it in me right now.

“What are you doing here, Holden?”

I’m not sure why I can’t seem to stop my words from coming out so sharp whenever we talk. I mean, I know why on the larger scale of things, but that was so long ago.

His head jerks backward, and a flash of hurt passes across his face. I’m sure it’s because of my tone.

I sigh. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m just annoyed. What can I do for you?”

I swipe a forearm across my sweaty forehead to push the hair back from it. Great. This isn’t a look I want him to see.

He frowns, which I can hardly stand, but then a sad smile forms on his handsome face, and that somehow feels worse.

I’m irritated with myself for that. Why do I respond to him like this? Whatever went on with us burned out years ago. Right?

“Well, I’m here because you hired Aron Family Builders and Restoration to complete your project, which includes knocking down the wall between your two units and remodeling the other side.”

“Okay. And are you here to give me another quote or something?”

He grins.

“Nope. I’m the structural engineer. I need to check the walls you want to tear down and make sure they aren’t load-bearing walls. If they are, then we’ll need to put that into the plan so you’ll have enough support for the structure. Especially given that you’ll be living in the housing upstairs.”

Watching and listening to this gorgeous specimen of a man speak smart talk is sexy as hell.

I lose myself thinking about that for several seconds until Holden clears his throat. I blink a few times and then nod.

“Okay, well, I guess I can show you what I’m hoping to do, and then I can keep working while you do whatever you need to.”

“By working, do you mean trying to lift these heavy booths all by yourself into a dumpster that’s not much shorter than you?”

His implication that I can’t do it rankles my inner superwoman.

“Yes. I’ve already gotten two in. I only have a few more.”

“Can you just wait on that? There’s a lot of information I may need from you, so it would be best if you stayed with me while I complete the assessment.”

I could use a break, and I’m thirsty as heck. I feel my shoulders relax in defeat over this battle with the booths.

“Okay, I can do that. Let’s go inside. Do you want any lemonade?”

I finally have my drink mixer running, and I’m able to make my grandma's lemonade. It’s delicious.

We walk into the space, and he follows me over to the lemonade maker.

“I don’t really like lemonade. But water would be okay if you don’t mind.”

I glance over my shoulder at him, then pivot to face him.

“Who doesn't like lemonade?”

The right side of his mouth lifts just a hint. I remember that about him—how his mouth does that when he’s trying not to grin or laugh. I loved that, and I force myself to look away.

“It’s too sour and a little plain.” He shrugs.

“Well, you haven’t tried my grandmother’s, so just take a sip for me. Then, if you still want water, I’ll give you water.”