Page 11 of Restored By You

“Like a complete disaster?” I supply. “Yes. Yes, it was.”

“But Rhett fixed it,” she says, and there’s something too casual in her tone. I clock it immediately.

“He did,” I say, matching her casual-not-casual lead in. “He was very…competent.”

“Mm.” She wraps both hands around her mug. “That’s one word for him.”

“Callie.” I level her with a look and cross my arms. “Did you, per chance, send your fiancé’s brother to my flooded house at eleven o’clock at night and simply forget to mention he had arms of steel?”

She sips her coffee, all wide-eyed innocence over the rim. The same look she gives reporters when she’s about to lie about a sequel.

“How could you,” I whisper-hiss.

Her lips press together, fighting a smile, and losing miserably. “I didn’t think it was relevant, you know, to the plumbing.”

I drop my forehead onto the cool laminate of the table and groan. Across the café, Tyler is at the register, gesturing at the pastry case with the closest thing to enthusiasm I’ve seen from him in twelve hours. Small mercies.

“He’s my contractor now,” I say into the table, then lift my head to face her. “Or he’s going to be. Possibly. We have a…thing set up.” I wave my hand vaguely. “He’s coming by the reno house at noon to look at my plans.”

Callie’s face lights up. “Like a date!”

“A consult.”

“At your house.”

“It’s a job, Cals.”

“Mhm.” She breaks off a corner of her danish, popping it in her mouth, entirely too pleased with herself. Hulk shifts under the table, his big head settling onto her boot. “And you’re wearing that?”

I glance down at myself. Vintage Levi’s I tailored myself, cuffed over the only pair of boots I own that I don’t mind getting a little dirty. A cashmere henley in oatmeal, sleeves pushed to my elbows. My curls are piled up and clipped off my neck—the kind of ‘effortless’ that takes product, patience, and a silk bonnet the night before. It’s the most casual I’ve appeared in a long time.

Not that I’m dressing for anyone in particular. Obviously.

And I certainly don’t tell her about how I may have already accidently called our…consult, a date last night. To. His. Face.

“Yes, I am wearing this,” I confirm, “because it’s not a date. If it was, I’d wear something more…” I trail off, trying to remember the last ‘date’ I’ve been on and what the heck I wore? Was it a mini skirt or romper or—?

The bell above the door to the café behind me rings and Callie’s eyes light up as her gaze shifts over my head. “Oh, would you look at that,” she murmurs.

My gaze shifts up and over my shoulder to the door, and there he is.

Rhett Montgomery.

Daylight does him no favors—or rather, it does him every favor, and none of them are fair to me. Last night he was a silhouette in my flooded hallway, all shadow and capable hands. Now the morning sun catches him full-on, throws the gold in his stubble and the worn-soft fit of his jeans into unforgiving focus. He’s got a travel mug locked in one meaty paw and the easy gait of a man who’s walked into this café a thousand times.

My stomach performs a maneuver I’d like it to never attempt again at the mere sight of him…

“You did this,” I hiss, my head whipping back around to face my best friend.

“I did not.” She laughs at my panic. “This is the only café in town, Shea. Statistically, everyone ends up here.”

Statistically, I’m going to kill her.

She waves her hand wildly. “Hey, guys! Good morning, Rhett. Hi, Levi.”

Yup. Murder is on the agenda for today.

I glance to my right just as a wide chest and thick forearms come into view.