Page 40 of Married to the Frenemy

It barely resembles how it looked mere weeks ago during the height of the Christmas season. Now, with Callum’s help, Parker’s finally able to turn Holley Ridge into the luxurious wedding destination her parents always dreamed of. But it’s going to take a lot of time and effort to do that.

And a lot of construction workers, who currently have Grandma Estelle’s attention, her eyes glued to a pair of binoculars as she checks out a few of the more attractive ones.

“That honestly surprises me,” she continues, not even looking my way. “I thought that man would have you walking bow-legged for the next week with the way he was eye-fucking you yesterday.”

“Grandma Estelle!” I exclaim, although I shouldn’t be surprised.

The octogenarian, who’s as much of a fixture at Parker’s inn as is the towering Norwegian Spruce she decorates every Christmas, has absolutely no brain-to-mouth filter. She speaks her mind, to hell with what anyone might think. After over eighty years on the planet, she’s earned that right.

Regardless, I doubt I’ll ever get used to hearing her talk about fucking and walking bow-legged.

“It’s an honest question, Haley dear. I’m surprised you’re only realizing he’s not any good in the sack now. Even in my day we took the car for a test drive before we drove it off the lot.”

“I…”

“Grandma Estelle,” Parker interjects, saving me from having to come up with a plausible excuse.

Because therein lies the problem.

I did take Beckham out for a test drive. He was my first test drive, but only a few people know that.

“Why don’t you go check on the crew? See if they’d like some fresh coffee or pastries.”

“Are you kicking me out?” Grandma Estelle lowers her binoculars long enough to give Parker a heated glare.

“Not at all.” She skirts around one of the steel prep tables, placing a variety of pastries and muffins into a large bakery box. “Just giving you an excuse to check out all those hotties from a better spot. And maybe get the number of the silver fox you keep drooling over.”

Grandma Estelle doesn’t respond for several seconds, and I’m waiting for her to pry about why Parker needs to talk to me in private. Or, more accurately, why I need to talk to her. While I adore Grandma Estelle, she’s not known for her ability to keep secrets.

“Fine,” she finally says with a huff, climbing down from her stool, taking a moment to smooth her pixie-cut silver hair. “I’ll leave. But only because one of them boys is wearing a really tight pair of jeans and I’ve only gotten a view of his backside today. I’d love to know if the front looks just as good.”

“Make sure to report back.” Parker winks as she hands Grandma Estelle the box.

“You know I will.” She waggles her brows, then pushes through the swinging door of the kitchen, making her way onto the back veranda. The instant she does, I hear a muffled chorus of men shouting her name.

One thing is certain. Everyone loves that woman.

“Where’s Callum?” I ask once we’re alone. “Did he go back to San Francisco already?”

While they’re committed to making their relationship work, Callum is still the head of a successful real estate development firm. For now, he’s splitting his time between the city and here. According to Parker, he doesn’t mind. He always traveled a lot for work before. Now Parker is his reason for being away from the city.

“Not yet.” She brings her coffee mug to her lips, a blush building on her face as her eyes focus on one of the construction workers.

I follow her line of sight, realizing he’s not a construction worker at all, but Callum Reed in a hardhat and tool belt.

It’s a far cry from the stiff in a suit who first walked onto Parker’s property almost two months ago.

“So what’s going on?” Parker asks, forcing my attention back to her. “Obviously something happened.”

I collapse onto a nearby barstool. “This morning as I was getting dressed, I saw Beckham in the shower.”

“You were bound to have a few awkward run-ins at some point.”

“No, Parker. I saw him in the shower,” I say again, hoping she picks up what I’m trying to tell her without having to spell it out.

“Okay,” she draws out, confusion wrinkling her brow. Then her eyes widen. “Was he?—”

“Yup. Sure was. Was really going to town on it, too.”

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