Page 10 of Our Bay Will Come

"The sexiest," I confess, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face. "God, Rory, he was... I don't even have words. And now he won't stop texting me."

"The horror," she deadpans. "A hot guy who wants to keep in touch after sex. How will you survive?"

I glare at her. "You know it's not that simple. I live here. Fox lives there. I'm not looking for a relationship, especially not a long-distance one with a guy I barely know."

"So get to know him better." She shrugs like it's the most obvious solution in the world. "What's he like, anyway? Besides the obvious skills with kitchen counters."

I think about Fox—his quiet intensity, his eyes crinkle when he smiles, and his gentle hands despite their roughness.

"He's... different," I say slowly. "Grumpy, but in a charming way? He builds things—houses, furniture. He's got these calluses on his hands that should not be as sexy as they are. And he makes delicious pancakes."

"Ah yes, the pancake test. Very important." Rory nods sagely, then breaks into a grin. "He sounds perfect for you."

"He's not perfect for me because there is no 'for me,'" I insist. "I'm focusing on the business, remember? The five-year plan? Expansion into commercial spaces? None of that includes getting distracted by a hot carpenter who lives three hours away."

Bzzzzz

My phone vibrates again, and despite my protests, I can't help checking it.

Fox: What are you wearing?

Me: Seriously? That's the best you can do?

Fox: Just wanted to make sure you're properly dressed for Seattle weather. I care about your well-being.

I snort, then look up to find Rory watching me with knowing eyes.

"Yeah, you're totally not into him," she says, sliding off my desk. "Keep telling yourself that, Griffin."

"Don't you have work to do?" I ask pointedly.

"I do, and so do you." She taps the fabric samples I've been neglecting. "The Morgans are coming in at three to finalize their selections, and you haven't even narrowed these down yet. So maybe stop sexting your not-boyfriend long enough to do your job?"

She's right, of course. I've been distracted all week, replaying memories of Fox like my favorite movie scenes. The way he looked at me across the bonfire that first night. How he kissed me against his truck door. The feel of his beard against my inner thighs.

"Fine," I say, picking up the samples again. "I'll focus."

"Good." Rory starts walking back to her desk, then pauses. "But Prue?"

"Hmm?"

"For what it's worth, I haven't seen you this happy in a long time. Maybe don't be so quick to dismiss whatever this is."

I watch her go, her words echoing in my head. Am I happy? The flutter in my stomach when Fox texts certainly feels positive. But being happy is dangerous. Happy leads to expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment.

I've been down that road before. I won't make the same mistake twice.

My phone buzzes again.

Fox: For the record, I miss more than just the sex. I miss talking to you. Even your smartass comments about my coffee.

I stare at the screen, something warm and dangerous unfurling in my chest. Before I can overthink it, I type back:

Me: Your coffee was terrible. I live in Seattle. My coffee standards are high.

Fox: See? That right there. That's what I miss.

Me: I have to work now. Client meeting at 3.

---