Page 46 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

All of those features I could get over if I didn’t like who Adam is at his core. And that man, I’m discovering, is gentle and sensitive, despite his gruffness. He’s a man with feelings that run deep enough to be hurt hard. But he’s also a man who’s willing to forgive and work at relationships.

Those traits trump an excellent set of abs any day. Abs will disappear. Integrity and empathy won’t.

Which is why I can’t be drawn into any kind of relationship with him beyond friendship. He’s a man who’s been hurt by secrets, and I don’t want to be someone who hurts him again. I understand all the reasons we can’t tell him about the HGTV project, but I can’t be part of keeping it from him.

After the production company decides whether to move forward with the project, I don’t have to worry about keeping the info from him. If there’s still an attraction between us, well, then we’ll see where it goes. I have until the beginning of the year to get Grandma Rose’s done. That’s only a few months. I can keep my emotions in check until then.

Probably.

I push myself up from the floor and grab my mug. The cocoa is lukewarm, but I’ve had enough hot for one night. I drink it in one swallow, then put the cup in the dishwasher and head to bed. Eventually, I fall asleep, only to dream about Adam.

So not helpful.

I leave early the next day to avoid him, but when I pull into Britta’s, his truck is there too. Ebelskiver I could go without for one day, but Britta also makes the best coffee in town. That, I can’t live without. I’ve been here almost two weeks, and we’ve already established a routine. She has my coffee ready and waiting for me by eight a.m., and I show up to drink it before I start work.

Can’t really break tradition, right?

For half a second, when I go inside, I think I can grab my order and go without being seen, but this is Paradise. Everyone is way too friendly.

“Evie!” Britta yells, just as I’m about to make a clean getaway.

I drop my hand from the door and turn around with a smile. “Hi, Britta.”

She walks from the far end of the counter closer to me, which is my signal to walk back to the counter. It’s that or be rude. And rude is never an option.

My eyes involuntarily scan the room until they land on Adam. He’s standing in front of the register Britta just left, looking at me. I send him a brusque nod. Because, apparently, rudeisan option when it comes to him. A question creases his brow, and he sends a terse nod back that hits me right in the conscience.

Obviously, I can’t avoid Adam in a town of one thousand people, especially when he’s my neighbor. Avoiding would have to look like ignoring, and I don’t want to do that.

So, I send him an apology-laced smile. Not just for a few seconds ago, but for last night, too.

He doesn’t smile back, and I don’t know if that’s Adam being Adam or if he’s upset with me. When he raises his eyes to mine, they are a stormy gray.

I take cover from his gaze by turning to Britta and sipping my coffee. “Perfect ratio of mocha to latte, as usual.” I raise my cup to her. My hands are shaky under Adam’s watch, and I remind myself that I have to be careful with his heart. That’s why I’m keeping my distance—physically and emotionally.

“Thank you. I do my best.” She pulls a lever on the espresso maker, which releases a loud grinding sound that she talks over. “How are you? What have you got planned today? How’s the house coming?”

“I’m checking on the framing. Wood is finally here, so it’s supposed to start today,” I answer loud enough for her to hear me over the machine.

“Exciting stuff.” The grinding stops, and she pours the coffee into a stainless mug, then hands it to Adam. “This is the guy to ask about the framing. You ready to go, Big Brother?”

He wraps his hands around the mug, keeping his eyes down. “Yep. Long as my crew shows up. Hector’s got to help his dad on the farm, and Blaine is only good for anything if he’s sober.”

I blink and step closer to him. “Wait. You’re the framers? Why didn’t I know this? I thought it was AT Home Construction”

I stop and let the pieces fall into place. “It’s A T, isn’t it? Not At.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yep.”

Because, of course, it makes more sense to have initials as part of the company name instead of a preposition. But Georgia gave me a written list of the companies working on the house, not a verbal one. How was I supposed to know?

“So you have a restaurant, a grocery store, and aconstruction companyyou work at full time? Literally, is there anything in this town you don’t do?” Before I can think about it, my feet have carried me inches from him, which isn’t the best approach to avoidance. “Because each of those jobs alone is big, especially running your own construction business. You have to actually know how to build houses—not that you don’t—but isn’t there a license or something required?”

Adam’s lip pulls into a smile, tugging my heart with it. He answers with a shrug. “You’ve been in New York too long. Doesn’t take much to get a contractor’s license in Idaho, but I also worked on some of the best crews when I lived here and in Utah and took some construction management courses. I was starting my own company before Da…” His smile falters but returns. “BeforeImoved to New York. I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

“I believe you.” Should I take it as a good sign that he smiled through that entire speech, even the part where he almost said his ex’s name? “And what about the other jobs?”

“The store is my dad’s. I just help during the off-season. The restaurant doesn’t turn a profit for most of the year, so I do construction to keep it open and pay my bills. When it was Mom’s, she only opened it during the summer.”

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