Page 12 of Knot on the Market

She settles into the chair across from me without being invited. There's something so genuinely warm about her enthusiasm that it's hard to be irritated.

"Lila James," I say, extending my hand.

"Oh, I know exactly who you are," Margie says with a wink. "Small town, remember? We've all been dying to meet the mysterious woman who bought the Anderson place sight unseen."

My stomach drops slightly, but Margie doesn't seem interested in prying into my past. Instead, she leans forward conspiratorially.

"Now, I hope you're not planning to order everything online like some kind of hermit," she says. "We've got everything you need right here in town. Start with Everwood Supply for lumber and building materials. Callum Greaves runs it, and he's fair with his prices. For tools and smaller hardware, Brooks Hardware has everything you'll need, and River Brooks is always helpful."

"I was actually planning to do some shopping today," I say. "I need a few things for the house."

And I need to prove I can handle basic errands without Dean appearing to rescue me from my own incompetence.

"Excellent!" Margie stands up and gathers her purse. "But don't be a stranger, Lila. We're glad you're here."

I finish my muffin and head out, armed with Margie's recommendations. Brooks Hardware is just a few shops down, a neat storefront with red trim and displays of tools in the windows.

The bell above the door jangles as I enter, and I'm immediately hit by the distinctive scent of motor oil, metal polish, and rubber. The store is organized chaos. Tools and hardware displayed in neat sections that somehow manage to look both overwhelming and inviting.

"Help you find something?"

I turn toward the voice and find a guy about my age leaning against the counter with an easy smile. His dark hair is tousled like he's been working outside, and he's definitely an alpha—I can tell from his scent even over the motor oil.

"So you're the famous Lila James," he says, pushing off from the counter with an easy smile.

"Word travels fast around here."

"Lightning speed," he agrees cheerfully. "I'm River, by the way. River Brooks. Welcome to Honeyridge Falls."

"Nice to meet you, River. I need a toolkit," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "Something basic but comprehensive. I've been trying to figure out what's wrong with my front porch."

I pull out my sketchbook and show him the drawings I've been working on since yesterday, careful measurements of the sagging supports, sketches of what I think might be structural problems.

River's eyebrows rise as he studies my work. "Damn, you really did your homework. Crawled under there and everything?"

"Spider webs and all," I admit. "But I'm not sure I understand what I'm looking at."

"Well, getting your own toolkit is a good start," he says, leading me toward a display. "Independence is sexy." The comment catches me off guard, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks. It's been months since anyone flirted with me, even casual, harmless flirting like this.

"This one's perfect for beginners," River says, pulling down a medium-sized toolkit. "Basic hammer, screwdrivers, pliers, measuring tape, level. Everything you need for most household projects." He glances back at my sketches. "But for the porch stuff, you're gonna need to talk to Callum over at Everwood Supply. He understands old construction better than anyone around here."

"Right, Margie mentioned him," I say.

"Bit of a grump, but he knows his stuff. If anyone can tell you what you're dealing with structurally, it's him." River grins. "Just don't let his attitude scare you off. He's all bark."

"Good to know. I'll probably need to see him after I figure out the basics," I say, then gesture to the toolkit. "Speaking of which, I'll take this one."

"Great choice. Need help carrying it to your car?"

"I walked," I admit. "But I can manage."

River raises an eyebrow. "It's pretty heavy, even for someone determined to prove their independence."

The way he says it suggests he's picked up on more than just my toolkit needs.

"I don't need help," I say, reaching for the toolkit. "I can handle it."

He hands it over with a smirk that suggests he finds my stubbornness amusing rather than irritating. The toolkit is heavier than I expected, but I'm committed to the illusion of competence now.

---