Page 87 of Knot So Social

She groans. “Gosh, you have no idea how much trouble he’s in.”

I lower the panel and step closer before leaning it against my hip. “Everything okay?”

She shakes her head. “Um, it’ll be okay. I didn’t let him out because I wasn’t sure if he’d be in your way.”

“We’ll be fine,” I assure her. “He’s good company.”

“Okay.” She leans in and touches the wall panel, making the gate behind me glide shut. “But please be careful. He’s already bowled someone over.”

I swing around, piecing together the truck in the yard. “Jeremy?”

“Oh, yeah. You met him, didn’t you?” She scrubs a hand through her hair. “Mr Shares knocked us both over and he ended up in hospital.”

The way her fingers clench drives me another step closer. “Did you get hurt? Is he okay?”

“He’s injured but recovering.” She throws me a shaky smile. “Anyway, I’ll stop holding you up. How long do you think the fencing will take?”

My smile falters. “It’s a lot of yards, and I have a couple of jobs to take care of tomorrow. Three days?”

“All right. And have you invoiced me for the panels? Those must be expensive.”

It’s nice she thought about that. “If you don’t mind two separate invoices?”

She shakes her head. “Whatever works best for you. I’ll go let Mr Shares out.”

I step back and she closes the door, the click of the latch sounding like a death knoll. Well, it’s my own stupid fault for imagining things that don’t exist. She has Jeremy for those sorts of needs.

But what about the other needs, the ones that made her flinch away from a loud noise and cower under a bench?

I haul my gear around the back of the house and Mr Shares comes to greet me, leaping and barking. We spend a few minutes playing, me running with him across the lawn. He does bog laps, springing like a gazelle in excitement. His joy distracts me from my own unease.

The work isn’t difficult. I measure out the drill holes and bolt the brackets into the top of the brick fence. Then the decorative panels slot into each section, lifting the fence height by another foot.

Mr Shares abandons me in favor of the shade in the patio and an hour later, the back door slides open.

“Come and get a drink,” Willow calls.

I shimmy down the ladder like a squirrel and jog over. She has fresh lemonade and tall glasses full of ice waiting on the slatted table.

“Thanks so much!”

She scans the sky through the window and then settles in a chair. “No problem. Looks like thirsty work.”

“The Texas sun sure is warm,” I agree.

She smiles thinly. “Where are you from?”

“Italy. A little town a hop and skip from the Amalfi Coast, to be more precise.”

“Oh, that sounds beautiful. Do you miss the beach, then?”

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “It’s a bit of a drive from here. You ever been?”

“Not recently. I . . . don’t like going . . . swimming.”

Feels like it’s something other than the water she doesn’t like. I pull another chair out and subtly move it closer to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Oh, go right ahead. Sorry I didn’t offer.”