Page 29 of Fairground

“I’m a mouth breather. You don’t have to be rude,” I shoot back.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “There was definitely a moan."

"A sigh at most."

"A wistful sigh."

I roll my eyes again. "You’re insane. Anyway, where else am I supposed to look when you’re suddenly half-naked and I’m trying to have a professional conversation about work? There isn’t much to look at in here.”

He chuckles, grabbing the oar again. “Mhm.”

And just like that, he’s back at it, stirring the tank with slow, steady motions that send his muscles rippling under the sheen of sweat now coating his skin. It’s unfair, really. There’s no escaping the view because we’re in such close quarters. Every shift of his body is distracting as hell—the way the sweat beads along his chest, catching in the hair there, or the way it drips down to that - Okay, stop. I need to focus.

But I can’t. Now that his back is completely bare, I’m treated to an even better view. One that shows off strong traps, a tapered waist and glutes that look carved by the gods themselves.

I clear my throat, forcing my attention back to the tablet and what we were discussing.

“Okay, so… who’s Darren?”

“Darren Breaker,” he says, not missing a beat. “Works at the post office. Guy loves organizing this kinda stuff and he's a part of the planning committee though I think he had to work tonight. We’ve gotta delegate tasks where we can. He can make calls to the vendors to confirm their availability and interest in having a booth during his breaks.”

Nodding, I type up a quick email to Darren, attach the vendor list and ask him to vet them for availability and positive reviews. The whole thing takes only about a minute to finish and when I’m done, I glance up again—and immediately regret it.

Cash is soaked now—sweat clinging to him like he walked straight through a downpour. If it was just a trickle before, now it’s full-on shower status. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead, one stubborn curl hanging low in a way that’s unfairly adorable. He looks like a drenched golden retriever—smiling, good-natured, beloved by everyone in town. Too handsome for me to ever say that part out loud, though.

“Okay,” I say, my voice softer now, “That’s finished.” Guilt creeps in because while I’m here sitting around, openly ogling every perfect inch of his body, he’s clearly doing all the heavy lifting—literally.

“God, it’s hot in here,” he mutters, working the paddle harder as beads of sweat drip down his temples. He bites the corner of his lip in concentration, and my throat feels dry just watching him take that lip like it did something to him. The heat is oppressive, and my own shirt clings to me like a second skin, making me want to rip it off and go shirtless with him.

“If you weren’t here,” he adds, his voice a low rumble, “I’d be naked right now.”

“What?” The question bursts out of me before I can stop it, my eyes practically doubling in size as I try to wrestle my thoughts into submission.

He grins, all mischief and charm. “It’d probably be unsanitary for me to do it, but in this heat? I’d take the risk. I sweat like a dog.”

There’s a snarky retort on the tip of my tongue, but instead, my brain conjures an image—his perfectly toned body, those strong thighs that probably rival a sprinters’, and… nope. Abort mission. This man is supposed to be my rival, not the star of my inappropriate daydreams.

I clear my throat, determined to keep things professional. “So… what else do we need to discuss for food and beverage?”

“That’s it,” he says on a grunt as he swipes the oar harder.

My mouth drops open in shock. “You dragged me all the way out here just to tell me to forward an email to Darren? I could have done that at home.”

He glances at me, clearly amused. “Guess so. But hey, wasn’t this an educational opportunity? You got to learn about a mash tun and see the Whitewood Creek Distillery with your own eyes.”

I glare at him, realizing I’ve been played. “We're not in middle school on a field trip. I didn't need this educational opportunity. Also, why was Colt so surprised to see me here tonight?”

He shrugs, his paddle moving in steady, rhythmic motions. “I don’t usually mix pleasure with work.”

“Pleasure,” I repeat, letting the word roll off my tongue. “What exactly is pleasurable about this?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, flashing me that disarming grin. “Your company.”

I snort, trying to shake off the sudden warmth that’s creeping up my neck. “No one’s ever accused me of being pleasurable to be around.”

He glances at me, his expression softening. “I find that hard to believe.”

And dammit, that one little line sends a ripple through me—an unexpected warmth that hits my chest and keeps traveling, all the way down to my toes. It’s subtle, but strong enough to leave me off balance. Why does he care so much about me liking him? He’s already got the whole town wrapped around his finger like it’s second nature. He doesn’t need me to join the fan club.

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