Page 36 of Love Me Reckless

She shoves her fingers between her thighs. “I’m not good with negotiating. I don’t like upsetting people.”

Obviously. “You don’t want to pay for more than it’s worth, do you?”

She groans. “No, but…”

“And you’re going to need to put money into fixing everything, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then make her an offer that feels fair to you.”

“I need… Birch to buy it.” Her cheeks turn crimson, and her voice has gone all breathy, like she’s ashamed.

I fucking hate that.

But there’s something else here that I hate just as much. Underneath all of this… Birch controls her money? They aren’t even married yet. And if theyweremarried, her money comes from her family’s wealth. I’m no expert, but shouldn’t she have control over her share?

“So I’ll have to ask him to make an offer.”

“Will he?”

She glances at the house. “He said he would.”

“I’m detecting a low level of confidence here.”

With a sigh, she leans back in the seat. “I just wish I could do it all myself.”

“Why can’t you?”

She gives me a look.

“No, seriously. You apply for a loan, make the offer, etcetera. People do it all the time.”

She’s nodding like she agrees, but I can tell she’s already doubting herself. It’s such a contrast to the fierce girl who proudly stuffed a little library with free books in front of my house just a short while ago.

Little Library Kirilee was ready to conquer the world.

Birch Kirilee is afraid to try.

Fuck.

How can I get her to believe in herself?

“I’ll think about it,” she says, giving the house one last wistful glance.

Chapter Ten

KIRILEE

Though I sendBirch an email with the link to the sales listing and an outline of the work I think it needs based on research I conducted, I try to put my request out of my mind. Birch is traveling a lot, and I’m working hard to build up my inventory after Autumn Fest.

But my thoughts seem to go round and round with the clay. I make careless mistakes, from trimming a bowl too thin to coating a mug with the wrong glaze to forgetting to turn on the kiln. Cleaning the studio at the end of the day helps a little, but each night when I climb into bed with my book, I wonder if Sawyer is reading the one I gave him, and what he thinks about it.

He's always so calm. Like dealing with cranky library-haters and cunning real estate agents is a breeze for him. And I’m not denying how my body reacted while watching him dig that hole in about two minutes, muscles flexing in the sunshine.

The way the afternoon sun brings out the gold flecks in his eyes sends goosebumps skittering over my skin. His teasing doesn’t help, either. He doesn’t really think I’m a princess, does he? Whenever he says it, I’m like a lit fuse, determined to prove him wrong.

I’m in the studio trying out a new type of porcelain the consistency of warm butter when my phone lights up with a text from Birch.

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