“Has he been doing his own repairs?” Reagan asked, but when Jean answered she didn’t listen. She was too busy appreciating the width of those shoulders. The sturdy set of his tall frame. The way his perfectly shaggy hair complemented the thick mustache and heavily stubbled facial hair. A drove of goosebumps cropped up on her forearms—the first hint of attraction to a man other than Dustin in three years.

“…or as far as I can tell, anyway,” Jean was saying. “He’s a looker though, isn’t he?”

Reagan blinked before shaking her head. “I, uh, didn’t notice.”

Jean let out a loud guffaw before returning to her coffee and pie. “I’m old, not blind. He’s a fine specimen. Even I can see that. Want to hear something else?”

“Sure.” She reluctantly joined Jean on the couch, but her eyes stayed on the window. She watched as he tipped his beer bottle again but was too far away to watch his throat work as he swallowed.

Bummer.

“He’s a Crane,” Jean said.

“A what?”

“A Crane. As in the family that founded Crane Hotels. Alex ‘Big’ Crane. Reese Crane. You know, the Cranes.”

Reagan knew Crane Hotels, but so did anyone who’d seen one of their towering glass buildings on the city skyline. They had to be the largest luxury hotel chain in the country. At least in the top five. But knowing a building wasn’t the same as knowing the family of billionaires the hotels were named after. It wasn’t like they had their own reality show or anything.

“The gossip paper used to mention them all the time,” Jean said. “It’s been quiet since each of the boys married and settled down.”

Reagan reassessed the man standing in her former front yard. “So, he’s a billionaire hotelier?”

“Hard to say, but I know his name. Furniture delivery guy came by my house by mistake and said he had a delivery for a Brody Crane.”

Brody Crane. “Never heard of him.”

“Maybe he is one of Big Crane’s love children.” Jean’s eyes rounded, clearly enjoying the prospect of a fresh scandal.

“He could be a long-lost cousin.” Reagan doubted the truth was as dramatic as Jean made it sound—most things in life weren’t.

The older woman’s mouth turned down, displeased by that less sordid explanation. “Hm. I suppose that could be possible. As you can see, he’s not much of a handyman, though you gotta give him credit for trying.”

“So the sink isn’t the first thing he’s thrown into the yard?”

“That’s new behavior, but he’s been hauling things of the Mister Fix-It variety in and out all week.” Jean elbowed Reagan’s arm, and she nearly wore her next drink of coffee. “You should offer to help him. He needs you! You can install a sink.”

Of course she could, but— “Help the man who is gutting my childhood home? No, thanks.”

“Aw, I know that’s tough, honey.” Jean gave her shoulder a hard pat, but thankfully Reagan’s coffee mug was empty. “At least he’s not knocking it down.”

That was a fair point. If he were knocking it down, would he be attempting to install a new sink?

“I have to go. Thanks for the pie and coffee.” Reagan stood. “Are you sure you don’t need me to fix something while I’m here?”

“No, I’m good.” Jean walked her to the door. “But he might.”

Next, Reagan was practically shoved onto the front porch. Jean raised her voice to shout, “Thanks again for stopping by, Reagan!”

No way the neighbor didn’t hear that.

Brody looked up when he heard shouting. Not directed at him, apparently. A tall woman in jeans, a T-shirt, and a brown leather jacket was standing on the porch across the street. On long legs, she walked from the porch to a huge white truck. At the curb, she paused to glance over at him. He caught a flash of blond hair and bright lipstick on full lips.

Wow. Gorgeous.

She lifted her hand into an awkward wave, and he saluted her with his longneck. Her pink lips flinched into a smile before she climbed behind the wheel.

He would have to ask the neighbor lady about her in the future. He’d been here all week and hadn’t once seen a leggy blonde or that truck. He wondered how often she visited.