Page 52 of Your Place or Mine

The bar had just opened for the day. Sunlight poured through the front windows in angled streaks, catching the dust motes in a lazy swirl. The jukebox hadn’t been turned on yet, and the place smelled like lemon cleaner, old wood, and coffee I hadn’t finished.

Trying to get Lydia out of my head, I stepped behind the bar and started to restock napkins and mentally review my list for the day.

But my mind kept flopping back to the new landlady.

Lydia.

All fire and purpose, marching in like she owned the place.

Which, technically… she kind of did.

But that didn’t mean I had to like it.

I pretended not to notice the jolt that hit my stomach at the sight of her.

The bell jingled, and in she flew again.

“Wrong key, and somehow I think you knew that.” Her brows pulled together as she eyed me.

I bit back my laugh. “I would never…”

“Yeah, you would. Now, instead of having to pay for the contractor to try every damn key, why don’t you try out becoming a decent human being?”

“I never agreed to being decent.”

She leveled me with a look. “I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it whether you like it or not.”

“And yet here I am, still unimpressed.”

She reached the bar and rested her palms on the worn wood like she owned it. Damn her, she didn’t flinch when our eyes met.

“I’m not here to impress you, Callum,” she said coolly. “I’m here to ensure this building doesn’t fall apart while you’re too busy glowering at it to notice.”

My jaw tensed. “This bar’s been standing just fine for decades. Doesn’t need you sweeping in to save it.”

“I’m not trying to save it. I’m trying to keep it upright long enough for another decade. You ever look at your back exit door lately? That hinge is one good slam away from giving up.”

I pushed off the bar and crossed my arms. “So, you came in here to check on my hinges?”

“I came in here to get the damn key,” she said, straightening, “because I scheduled a walk-through with the electrician and your part of the building is next. Thought I’d give you a heads-up before we start unscrewing things and your ceiling falls on someone’s head.”

“Gracious of you,” I muttered. “Do all landlords come with this much attitude, or did I just win the lottery?”

She leaned a little closer across the bar. “I think your sparkling personality brings out the best in me.”

It was infuriating how fast my pulse jumped at that. I clung to my grumpiness like a damn life raft.

“I don’t need you fixing what isn’t broken,” I growled.

She held my gaze. “Then consider this a preemptive strike. Before itdoesbreak.”

For a beat, neither of us said anything.

The room felt hotter than it had ten seconds ago.

She was standing close enough for me to catch the scent of whatever she used in her hair—something soft, a little citrusy. It made me feel like I’d wandered too close to a fire and didn’t have the sense to step back.

I cleared my throat. “You always this hands-on with your other properties, or am I just lucky?”

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