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Nolan and I are sitting on fold-out lawn chairs, eating Subway sandwiches he ordered through DoorDash for lunch. Thankfully, he’s put his shirt back on. I probably would’ve choked on my food if he hadn’t. He has no business looking that good topless. It should be illegal.

It’s been a busy morning, and that man is a machine. I’ve helped wherever I could, bagging up the branches from the hedges he cut, pulling weeds while he did the edging, and sweeping up after him.

All that’s left to do now is mow. My hands are covered in blisters to go with the countless scars left behind from my fall, but I’m so glad I came. Nolan was right when he said giving back fills a part of you that money never could.

We’re working at a house where a single mum is raising six kids under the age of eight. One of her neighbours emailed Nolan, nominating her for help. She lost her husband in a car accident earlier this year, and it’s obvious she’s struggling.

She burst into tears the moment Nolan told her why we were here. Being the genuine guy he is, he didn’t hesitate to pull her into his arms. It’s one of his many redeeming qualities, even if he does sulk after losing at board games.

His kindness and easygoing nature are what I like about him most. Jason used to roam out into the dining room of his restaurants, smiling, chatting with customers and making them feel special. But the second they left, he’d make cruel comments about their weight, their looks or the way they were dressed, which only proved that none of it was real.

Nolan’s the complete opposite. There’s no performance. The man I see when the camera isn’t rolling is the same man who hugs a grieving stranger without a second thought.

A small boy, no older than four, slips out the back door and wanders over to us.

“I’m hungry,” he says, his eyes fixed on the food in Nolan’s hand.

Nolan winces as he glances down at the last couple of bites of his sandwich. The look on his face tells me he wishes there were more because he wouldn’t hesitate to hand it over. “You haven’t had lunch?” Nolan asks.

The sweet boy, with the big blue eyes, nods, but his reply has my heart cracking in two. “My sister and I shared a sandwich, but I’m still hungry.”

“Do you like cookies?” Nolan asks, reaching for the bag at his feet and holding it out to him. The boy’s face lights up. “There are two cookies in there, so you can share one with your sister. But you need to ask your Mum first, okay?”

“Okay!” He snatches the bag with a grin before racing towards the house.

A minute later, his mum appears at the back door, holding up the bag. “I’m sorry ... are you sure? I don’t get paid until tomorrow, so things always get tight towards the end of the fortnight.”

“We weren’t going to eat them anyway,” he lies because he absolutely was. And I swear I fall a little harder.

“That’s very kind of you,” she says, and neither of us misses the crack in her voice.

The moment she disappears back into the house, Nolan pulls out his phone. “What kind of food would a mother of six need?” he asks me as his finger slides over the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Buying her some groceries. I’ll get DoorDash to deliver them later this afternoon, once we’ve left. I can tell she’s a proud woman, so I don’t want to embarrass her.”

“You’re a good man, Nolan Sinclair. I’m glad my son’s going to have someone like you in his life.”

He glances up from his screen and arches a brow. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve made up your mind and are moving in?”

I laugh. “I’m not saying that at all.”

“But you’re thinking about it, right?” he asks, hope flickering across his face.

“Why would I want to live with a man who can’t cook steak tartare?”

“As you pointed out, you don’t cook steak tartare.”

“What about living with a man who sulks when he loses a board game? That doesn’t sound very appealing.”

He rolls his eyes. “Like I said, I was fucking eight. I’m sure you did dumb shit when you were a kid, Daisy.”

“If I agreed to live with you, would you walk around shirtless?”

“Shirtless?” he asks, leaning back slightly. “Do you have a problem with me not wearing a shirt?”

I sit forward in my seat and point an accusing finger in his direction. “Yes, I do.”