Page 50 of Your Place or Mine

Chapter Thirteen

Callum

I was behind the bar, elbow-deep in lemon-scented degreaser and exactly zero patience, when the door flew open with the kind of force that rattled the hinges.

I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

Only one person could blow into a room like that—fury in her steps, purpose in her stride, and a fire in her eyes that could melt drywall.

Lydia.

Wearing boots that somehow made stomping look sexy, a jacket that flared when she moved like it was part of a superhero costume, and a glare that could wither crops.

She was pissed.

And God help me. It was doing things to me I didn’t have time to unpack.

I straightened, wiped my hands on the bar towel, and forced the part of my brain that had wandered directly intoshe’s hot when she’s madterritory to shut the hell up.

“Let me guess,” I said, tone flat, “you ran out of reasons to ruin my day from down the street, so you came over for a personal touch?”

She marched right up to the bar and planted her hands on it like she was about to deliver a ruling from the high court of Do Not Mess With Me.

“I need access to the back hallway between the units,” she snapped. “Today. There’s wiring back there I need the electrician to look at before he bails for a bigger job, and I do NOT appreciate all the handmade notes telling me to buzz off.”

“And what makes you think I’m just gonna roll over and hand you a key like a well-behaved tenant?”

She leaned in slightly, eyes narrowed, voice low. “Because I already asked Riley, and she said the last time anyone had a key, it was you.”

My mouth twitched.

Damn it.

Of course, Riley ratted me out.

I made a show of sighing like she was personally dragging my soul out of my body. “You planning to tear the hallway down next? Put in one of those trendy neon signs that saysGood Vibes Only?”

“If I did, it’d be to balance out your entire existence. Your idea of Karma is…

“I don’t believe in Karma.”

She narrowed her eyes on me. “Obviously.”

“You’re hilarious,” I said, deadpan.

She didn’t flinch. “I’m serious, Callum. I’m not here to fight. I just want to do my job.”

“Funny,” I muttered. “That’s what I said right before I met the woman who keeps showing up with clipboards and a mission to turn the town into a Pinterest board. I just wanted to show up to work and serve the people booze and beer.”

She blinked. Once.

Then leaned even closer, her eyes locked on mine. “I don’thavea clipboard.”

“And yet you walk like you’re holding one.”

I could practically see her biting back a curse, which only made my chest tighten in some twisted combination of satisfaction and… well,interest.

Because of this woman? This stubborn, fire-eyed, too-pretty-for-her-own-good woman? She was not scared of me. And that made her the most dangerous thing to walk into this bar since Jerry Perkins tried to deep-fry a bratwurst inside.

---